Chapter 3 - The Test
I didn't sleep that night.
At 2:13 a.m., I sat on the kitchen floor while Sophie slept in our bedroom, Mr. Buttons tucked beneath her chin.
On the table were three things.
My adoption records.
The rabbit.
And a photograph of Dominic Valenti standing beside a teenage girl with my face.
Dominic had let me take a copy.
I hated him for that.
Because destroying a lie is easier when nobody gives you evidence.
My adoptive parents, Robert and Diane Bennett, had died within six months of each other when I was twenty-three.
They had loved me.
That was one fact nobody could rewrite.
But they had also avoided questions about my life before the accident.
I had always believed it was kindness.
Now I wondered whether it had been fear.
At eight the next morning, somebody knocked.
I opened the door expecting my landlord.
Dominic stood in the hallway.
No guards.
No expensive coat.
Just black pants and a dark sweater.
“You can't come here.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
He held out an envelope.
“DNA test.”
My stomach tightened.
“No.”
“I won't force you.”
“Good.”
“But if Sophie is mine, someone needs to know.”
“You mean you need to know.”
“No.”
His gaze moved toward the bedroom.
“I mean whoever tried to erase you needs to know they failed.”
That changed everything.
I let him inside.
Sophie appeared ten minutes later wearing dinosaur pajamas.
She stared at Dominic.
“You came back.”
“Yes.”
“For another hug?”
For the first time, I saw Dominic Valenti almost smile.
“If your mother allows it.”
Sophie looked at me.
Traitor.
I sighed.
“One.”
She ran into him.
Dominic caught her.
Watching them together hurt in a place I couldn't name.
The DNA test happened that afternoon.
Dominic arranged a private laboratory, but I demanded independent samples be sent to a second facility.
He agreed.
Forty-eight hours later, both results arrived.
Probability of paternity: 99.9998 percent.
I read the number six times.
Then I vomited.
Dominic stood outside the bathroom door and said nothing.
When I emerged, Sophie was coloring at the kitchen table.
Dominic had taken off his jacket and was sitting beside her.
She handed him a purple crayon.
He accepted it as if receiving classified intelligence.
“Mommy, Mr. Dominic draws bad.”
“I noticed.”
“I draw buildings.”
Dominic looked at me.
“Sophie draws people.”
The implication sat between us.
She had drawn three figures.
A little girl.
A woman.
And an enormous man.
All holding hands.
I turned away.
“Don't.”
Dominic stood.
“We need to talk.”
We moved into the hallway.
“You are her father,” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“I don't remember sleeping with you.”
Pain flashed across his face.
“I remember every second.”
My eyes burned.
“Then tell me.”
Dominic hesitated.
“Four years ago, you appeared at my gate during a snowstorm.”
He told me everything.
I had called myself Claire.
I hadn't remembered Dominic.
But I had recognized the mansion.
For three weeks, he protected me while trying to understand what had happened during the seven years I'd been missing.
Slowly, fragments returned.
A childhood summer.
A lake.
Dominic.
A promise.
Then one night, after a nightmare, I remembered kissing him when we were teenagers.
Dominic had refused to touch me romantically while my memories were uncertain.
Weeks later, according to him, I kissed him again.
This time as Claire.
Not Elena.
“Were we together?”
“One night.”
“And then?”
“You disappeared the next morning.”
“Why?”
“I never knew.”
I stared at him.
Then remembered Vivienne's face.
“Who knew I was here?”
“Marco. My housekeeper. My doctor.”
“And Vivienne?”
His silence answered me.
“She knew.”
“She visited the estate once.”
“During those three weeks?”
“Yes.”
A cold feeling moved through me.
The next knock came at 4:20.
Marco entered carrying a sealed evidence bag.
Inside was a tiny electronic device.
“Where did you find that?” Dominic asked.
Marco looked at Sophie.
“In the rabbit.”
I stopped breathing.
He placed Mr. Buttons on the table.
A seam had been carefully opened.
Hidden beneath the stuffing was a tracking transmitter.
Dominic's entire body changed.
The gentle man who had colored with Sophie disappeared.
“What frequency?”
“Encrypted.”
“How old?”
“Possibly four years.”
My blood turned cold.
Someone hadn't merely been searching for me.
Someone had known exactly where I was.
Dominic looked toward the window.
Across the street, a black SUV started its engine.
Marco reached beneath his jacket.
Dominic moved faster.
“Claire, get Sophie.”
“Why?”
The SUV pulled away.
May you like
Dominic stared after it.
“Because whoever made you disappear just discovered you're alive.”
