Chapter 11 - They Were Going to Frame Me
I sat down because my legs stopped working.
“No.”
Rebecca said nothing.
Robert took the letter.
Read.
His face changed.
“Hannah.”
“No.”
He stopped.
I looked at Rebecca.
“You don’t know that.”
“My mother did.”
“Your mother wasn’t there.”
“She was.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Sarah worked at the hospital.”
My mouth went dry.
The photograph.
Rebecca 1998.
Mom.
Dad.
Pregnant woman.
Not Rebecca.
Sarah.
I had assumed the name on the back meant the woman.
Maybe Dad had written the child’s name.
Rebecca.
I grabbed the photograph from Robert’s evidence copy.
“Is this your mother?”
Rebecca nodded.
“Yes.”
My throat closed.
“She was pregnant.”
“With me.”
I stared.
The date.
1998.
I was twenty-eight.
So was Rebecca.
Twins?
No.
Impossible.
I looked at her.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
My pulse hammered.
“What month were you born?”
“November.”
Mine.
Same hospital?
“Yes.”
Same week?
She gave me the date.
One day before me.
My skin went numb.
Robert said, “This could explain the ‘daughters’ note.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Dad’s letter.
Rebecca is not the daughter Linda lied about. You are.
I read farther.
Linda told me you were mine.
I believed her because I wanted to.
My hands shook.
Years later I learned the hospital records had been altered.
I stopped.
“Altered how?”
Robert scanned the page.
Dad had attached references.
Birth certificate amendment.
Blood type discrepancy.
Newborn wristband logs.
A private DNA test.
My chest tightened.
“No.”
Rebecca whispered, “He tested us.”
“What?”
“Thomas asked me last year.”
I looked at her.
“He compared our DNA?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Linda told him something during an argument.”
“What?”
Rebecca swallowed.
“That one of his daughters wasn’t his.”
I covered my mouth.
Dad tested Rebecca.
Not related.
Then me?
The letter answered.
I tested you without your knowledge. I am sorry.
My stomach turned.
“How?”
Robert read.
“Hair from a brush stored in the house.”
I stared.
Dad had done a DNA test.
He knew.
I read the result.
PATERNITY EXCLUDED.
I could not hear.
Robert touched my shoulder.
I pulled away.
“Who is my father?”
Dad’s letter:
I do not know.
Linda refused to tell me.
I laughed.
Sharp.
Empty.
Of course.
Mom again.
My phone rang.
Police.
Jason had been found.
I almost ignored it.
Then the detective said:
“He had documents regarding your birth.”
We drove back.
Jason sat in an interview room.
No silver pill tin now.
No confidence.
I placed Dad’s letter in front of him.
“Did you know?”
His face crumpled.
“Yes.”
I stared.
“How long?”
“Three months.”
I almost stood.
“Chloe told me.”
I looked at her through the glass.
She sat in another room.
Head down.
“Why?”
“Linda wanted leverage.”
“Against me?”
“Against Thomas.”
I laughed.
“Everyone had leverage.”
Jason continued.
“She planned to use your paternity if the fraud case surfaced.”
“How?”
“To challenge your claim to some family assets.”
Robert cut in.
“Thomas’s estate plan does not require biological descent.”
Jason nodded.
“She didn’t know that.”
Of course.
I leaned closer.
“Why did you pay Rebecca?”
“To stop her from giving Thomas the letters.”
“You helped Mom frame me.”
“Yes.”
“You helped Chloe steal.”
“Yes.”
“You signed the will.”
“Yes.”
“You slept with my sister.”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
I expected rage.
Instead I felt tired.
Then he said:
“But I didn’t give Thomas the pills.”
I stared.
“Chloe says you did.”
“I gave them to her.”
“Same thing.”
“No. She told me Linda needed one dose for a panic episode. I didn’t know it was for Thomas.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
He looked up.
“But check the dates.”
Robert did.
Jason’s prescription refill.
Tablet count.
Megan’s photograph.
The timeline matched.
Could still be a lie.
Then Jason pulled out his phone.
“One last thing.”
Audio.
Linda:
“I only need him awake enough to sign.”
Chloe:
“Mom, what if he tells Hannah?”
Linda:
“Then we make sure Hannah looks guilty first.”
The recording ended.
Chloe sat ten feet away behind glass.
I walked in.
Played it.
She cried.
“I didn’t know she was giving him anything.”
I stared.
“Then why were you changing his pills?”
She looked at me.
May you like
“Because Dad told me to.”
CUT.
