“But who was their father?” I asked again.
My aunt was sobbing.
“Your mother was more afraid of him than
anyone else.”
She handed me another envelope.
Inside was a medical document.
Beneath the section identifying the father was a name.
Robert Williams.
I knew that name.
It was the name of the man I had called my father my entire life.
Susan screamed.
Linda grabbed the edge of the table.
I felt the room spinning around me.
“Are you telling me that he…?”
My aunt nodded.
“He wasn’t your biological father, Mary. But while you were living in their house, he abused you. Your mother knew. She tried to
leave him, but Robert threatened to kill all of you.”
I couldn’t breathe.
The man who had taught me how to ride a bicycle…
The man who had walked me down the aisle on my wedding day…
The man I had held in my arms as he lay dying…
That same man was the father of my two daughters.
We decided to repeat the tests at an independent laboratory.
Two weeks later, the results confirmed that Linda and Susan were my biological daughters.
A comparison with a preserved medical sample
from Robert also confirmed his paternity.
That evening, the three of us sat in my kitchen.
Nobody spoke.
Finally, Susan asked:
“What are we supposed to be to each other now?”
I looked at them.
Two women with whom I had spent almost my entire life.
Women whose deepest secrets I knew.
Women whose children I had always considered my nieces and nephews.
And I whispered:
“I don’t know how to suddenly start calling you my daughters. But I know I’ve never stopped loving you.”
Linda began crying.
The three
of us embraced.
But the story didn’t end there.
Three days later, I received a phone call from my aunt’s house.
Elizabeth had passed away.
Her attorney informed me that she had left one final letter for me.
It contained only four short statements.
“Mary, I didn’t tell you the whole truth.
Robert wasn’t the only person responsible for what happened.
Your mother knew everything from the very beginning.
And the most horrifying part is that she was the one who arranged the attempt to erase your memories so you
would never be able to testify against Robert.”
At that moment, I realized that our family’s history wasn’t simply built on lies.
