Chapter 7: The Name That Should Never Have Been There

“Tell me the name again.””

I stood in my kitchen with the phone pressed against my ear, staring at the adoption papers scattered across the table.

Rachel was crying so hard that I could barely understand her.

“Claire, please. I know how this sounds.””

“I don’t care how it sounds. Tell me the name.””

She took a shaky breath.

“Michael.””

For several seconds, I didn’t recognize it.

Then I did.

Michael Bennett.

Daniel’s younger brother.

The man who had stood beside Daniel at our wedding, who had helped us move into our first house, who had driven me to a fertility appointment when Daniel was away on business.

The man who had once sat with me on the kitchen floor after a failed treatment and told me that I was going to be all right, even if I never had a child.

I gripped the edge of the table.

“No.””

Rachel said nothing.

“No, that doesn’t make any sense.””

“I know.””

“Michael died before the twins were born.””

“I know, Claire.””

“He died in a car accident. I went to his funeral.””

“I know.””

I closed my eyes.

Michael had been twenty-nine when he died. He had been driving home from a work conference when another vehicle crossed the center line. The collision happened on a rainy highway outside Providence. By the time the ambulance arrived, he was gone.

Daniel had taken his brother’s death badly.

They had argued in the months before the accident, and Daniel had carried a tremendous amount of guilt about their last conversation.

I had tried to help him through it.

I had attended the funeral, held his hand, and listened to his stories about growing up with Michael.

I had believed I understood the shape of his grief.

But none of that explained why Michael’s name would appear in a report concerning Oliver and Sophie.

“Rachel,” I whispered, “are you telling me that Michael might have been their biological father?””

“I don’t know.””

“You saw his name.””

“I saw the name Michael Bennett on the page. I don’t know what the report said about him.””

“Why didn’t you tell me this years ago?””

“Because Daniel begged me not to.””

I felt something inside me break.

“He begged you not to tell me that my children’s biological father might have been his dead brother?””

Rachel started crying again.

“He said the report was incomplete. He said there was no proof. He told me the social worker had made a mistake and that involving you would only create more pain.””

“And you believed him?””

“I wanted to.””

Her voice became smaller.

“Michael was my brother, too. He was dead, Claire. I couldn’t bear the thought that he might have left children behind and nobody knew what had happened to them.””

I sat down.

For a long moment, I couldn’t speak.

Then I asked the question that had been pressing against my mind since she said his name.

“Did Michael know about the twins?””

“I don’t know.””

“Did he know their mother?””

“I don’t know.””

“Did he have a relationship with her?””

“I don’t know, Claire. I’m sorry.””

I pressed my fingers against my forehead.

There were so many possibilities, and every one of them led to another question.

Had Michael fathered the twins before he died?

Had their mother known who he was?

Had someone concealed information during the adoption process?

Or was the name in the report referring to something entirely different?

I couldn’t allow myself to jump to conclusions.

Oliver and Sophie had already endured enough uncertainty in their young lives.

They deserved facts.

Not suspicions.

Not family gossip.

And certainly not another adult who believed that keeping a secret was the same as protecting a child.

“Rachel, I need you to listen to me carefully.””

“All right.””

“If you know anything else, you tell me. Everything. Even if you think it will hurt Daniel. Even if it makes your family look bad.””

“I will.””

“And don’t contact the children about this.””

“I wouldn’t.””

“I mean it, Rachel. They are not responsible for what happened before they were born.””

“I understand.””

I ended the call and sat in silence.

For several minutes, I stared at the name written on my notepad.

Michael Bennett.

Then I picked up my phone and called our adoption agency again.

The caseworker, Mrs. Harris, answered after two transfers. I explained what Rachel had told me and asked whether the agency could review the original records.

She was quiet for a moment.

“Claire, I understand why you’re concerned. But I want to be careful here. A name appearing in a report does not establish biological parentage.””

“I know.””