Chapter 3 - The Photograph
Clare didn't sleep.
At 2:14 in the morning, she sat on the floor beside the Christmas tree with William's letter spread across her lap.
She had read it eleven times.
Every time, the same questions remained.
Who was Eleanor?
Who was Evelyn?
Why had William written that he wouldn't let Harrison erase her twice?
And why was there suddenly a connection between her own name and the photograph Harrison hadn't yet seen?
She turned the photograph over again.
She had taken it from Harrison's coat pocket after he returned home at 12:48.
He hadn't noticed.
He had walked through the door looking like a man who had seen a ghost.
He'd asked whether she was awake.
She'd said yes.
He'd asked whether she wanted to talk.
She'd said no.
For once, Harrison had respected her answer.
He had gone upstairs.
Clare had waited ten minutes.
Then she'd searched his coat.
The photograph was inside.
And now she couldn't stop staring at it.
A newborn baby.
William.
Eleanor.
The hospital.
But the name written on the back wasn't actually her name.
It was her maiden name.
Clare Donovan.
Her hands trembled.
She had been adopted.
She knew that.
Her parents had told her when she was eighteen.
Her mother had always said her birth parents had been young and unable to raise her.
Clare had never searched for them.
She'd never wanted to.
Her mother and father had raised her with love.
But now everything she thought she knew was shifting.
At 6:30, Clare called her mother.
No answer.
She called again.
Nothing.
Then, finally, her father picked up.
“Clare?”
“Dad.”
A pause.
“You sound upset.”
“Who is Eleanor Parker?”
Silence.
Clare sat upright.
“Dad?”
“I don't know anyone by that name.”
“You're lying.”
Her father's breathing changed.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“From Harrison's father.”
Another silence.
Then her father said something that made Clare's stomach turn.
“Clare, listen to me carefully. Don't go looking for those people.”
“Why?”
“Because some families don't forgive the truth.”
The call ended.
Clare stared at the phone.
Her father had never spoken to her that way.
A knock came at the door.
Clare froze.
She expected Harrison.
Instead, a woman stood outside.
Late sixties.
Silver hair.
Dark blue coat.
She looked tired.
But her eyes were unmistakable.
The same warm brown eyes Clare saw in the mirror.
The woman whispered:
“Clare?”
Clare couldn't speak.
The woman swallowed.
“My name is Eleanor Parker.”
Everything inside Clare stopped.
Eleanor stepped backward.
“I know this is too much.”
Clare opened the door wider.
“Who am I?”
Eleanor's eyes filled with tears.
“You're my daughter.”
Clare's knees almost gave out.
“No.”
“I didn't know where you were.”
“No.”
“William took you.”
Clare shook her head.
“My parents adopted me.”
“They believed they did.”
Eleanor looked at her belly.
“And you're pregnant.”
Clare covered her son protectively.
“How do you know?”
“Because I've been trying to find you for thirty years.”
A car horn sounded downstairs.
Clare looked toward the window.
A black sedan was parked across the street.
Harrison's car.
He had come home.
Eleanor saw it too.
“He cannot know I'm here.”
Clare stared at her.
“Why?”
“Because Harrison isn't the one I'm afraid of.”
The apartment door opened behind Clare.
Harrison stood there.
His face went white.
“Eleanor.”
Eleanor looked at him.
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
Then she said quietly:
“You look just like your father.”
Harrison stepped forward.
“Clare, I can explain.”
Eleanor interrupted.
“No. You can finally tell her.”
Clare looked from one to the other.
“Tell me what?”
Harrison's eyes closed.
“My father wasn't your biological father.”
Clare stared.
“He was.”
“No.”
“He wasn't.”
Harrison swallowed.
“He was the man who arranged your adoption.”
Clare's hand moved to her belly.
“Why?”
Harrison didn't answer.
Eleanor did.
“Because William wanted your mother and father to disappear.”
Clare's heart pounded.
“What mother?”
Eleanor stepped closer.
“Me.”
Clare looked at the woman standing in front of her.
The woman who had her eyes.
Her expression.
Perhaps even the same habit of pressing her lips together when frightened.
“Why would he take me from you?”
Eleanor looked at Harrison.
“Because your birth threatened his entire inheritance.”
Clare whispered:
“I don't understand.”
Harrison's voice broke.
“Neither did I.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out the photograph.
He handed it to Clare.
She stared at the image.
There she was.
A newborn.
In William Mercer's arms.
Eleanor beside him.
The date was December 26, 1995.
Clare looked at Eleanor.
“You said you didn't know where I was.”
“I didn't.”
“Then who gave me to my parents?”
Eleanor's face crumpled.
“Your father.”
Clare frowned.
“My father?”
“William.”
A horrible realization began forming.
Clare looked at Harrison.
“Why would your father give me away?”
Harrison didn't answer immediately.
Then he said:
“Because you weren't supposed to survive.”
The room went silent.
Clare's hand tightened around the photograph.
“What?”
Harrison's voice dropped.
“My father believed you were proof of something he had done.”
“What?”
“Something illegal.”
Eleanor stepped forward.
“Not just illegal.”
Her eyes hardened.
“Cruel.”
She looked at Clare.
“And your husband has been trying to uncover it for eight months.”
Clare stared at Harrison.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Eight months.”
“And you slept beside me every night knowing this?”
“I was trying to find the truth before I told you.”
Clare laughed bitterly.
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You were trying to decide whether I could handle it.”
Harrison flinched.
Clare walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Somewhere your family can't reach me.”
“Clare—”
She turned.
“And Harrison?”
“Yes?”
She held up the photograph.
“You were right about one thing.”
He waited.
“Your family is about to be destroyed.”
She looked at Eleanor.
May you like
“Just not by me.”
:::
