Dad got to hisfeet and turned to face the view. “Emma, there’s no easy way to saythis…but you’re not mine. I’m not your father.”
Emma opened hermouth but no sound came out. Her stomach seemed to plummet athousand feet and land somewhere near her feet. She sank to the bedand folded her arms across her stomach as if warding off his words.“What?”
“I don’t wantto hurt you or shatter your mother’s memory…but just after yourseventh birthday I discovered that you are not my child.”
“I don’tunderstand. How can that be?” There had to be a mistake. Herparents had been happily married for almost ten years before Emmahad come along.
“Do youremember when I was teaching you to ride your bike? How good youwere, and how we decided to let you ride on the sidewalk with merunning alongside you?”
Sidewalk. Daddidn’t just have an American accent; he’d even changed hisvocabulary.
“Well, aneighbour reversed his car out without looking and almost cleanedyou up. You fell and tore the skin off your arm. When we got you tothe emergency room, the doctor asked your mother and I both todonate blood. You didn’t need it; it was just a procedure they had.You had a bit of gravel rash and a few bruises but were otherwisefine.”
Emma nodded asthe memory became clearer. “You gave me ice-cream for dinner.”
Dad turned toface her, a faint smile lighting his face. “A month after donatingthe blood, someone called from the hospital and apologised for anerror in their records. They had me listed as your father when thatcouldn’t be possible because we had different blood types.”
“But thatdoesn’t mean I’m not yours.” Emma pointed out. “I could have hadMum’s blood type.”
“Your motherand I had the same blood type.” He closed his eyes and let out abreath. “I didn’t understand it either at the time, so I lookedinto blood types, Emma. I don’t know how much you know about it,but there’s something called an ABO blood type. It basically meansthat if your parents were both AA types, you can only be an A typeas well. Your mother and I are both AA, Emma. You’re type O. Youinherited your father’s blood type.”
Emma stared atthe man she’d spent the last twenty years wondering about. Hisface, the wrinkle lines around his eyes, the hair that hadlightened across the years…so familiar yet not. Dad, but not.
His voicesoftened. “You weren’t adopted, Emma. I cared for your motherthroughout her pregnancy. I was there at your birth. You were herchild; you just weren’t mine.”
No. It didn’tmake sense. Mum hadn’t cheated. No way. She’d been happily married,at least, that was Emma’s memory. Before Dad and Michelle had left,they’d been happy. Emma could remember picnics and walks in thepark with her parents holding hands. It wasn’t a lie. Itwasn’t.
“Then who wasmy father?”
Dad sighed, anexhausted sound that seemed to sap his energy. “I don’t know. Yourmother and I argued, and she refused to tell me, insisting you weremy daughter. But after the hospital…the doubts crept in. I borrowedyour hairbrush and sent away for a DNA test. It took longer backthen…. But it’s true, Emma. You and I are not related.
“When Michellewas offered the opportunity to model, I clutched it with bothhands. I was so angry with your mother, Emma. I couldn’t forgiveher. In my eyes, it were she who broke up our family byhaving someone else’s child. It didn’t occur to me that she’d nevertell you the truth, and that you’d grow up blaming me.”
Emma pressedher hands against her cheeks as shock began to take hold. The airconditioning wafted over her, and she shivered. This man…this manthat she’d either adored or hated for most of her life wasn’t evenhers to hate. How could Mum have done something like that and nevertold her? And now—now she was gone, leaving Emma with no answers.No way to find the truth.
She dropped herhead into her hands.
“I’m sorry.”Dad—no, he wasn’t Dad anymore—said. “I know it’s a lot.”
“But why didyou react like that yesterday? You could have just suggested wemeet somewhere and told me. You didn’t have to have me thrown out.”Like garbage.
“No. Again, I’msorry. But when I left, I put you out of my mind, Emma. I can’tapologise enough for that. But I was hurt and felt betrayed. Youweren’t my child and after a while, I believed you were better offwith your mother. Maybe she remarried your father for all Iknew.”
“But youdidn’t know. You didn’t bother to find out! I don’t know howsomeone can just walk away and switch off their emotions like that.You were the one raising me. Surely you had to know that Ibelieved you would always be my father.”
“I’m sorry,Emma. If I could do it differently, perhaps I would. But we’llnever know. What’s done is done and I’m sorry for the hurt it hascaused you. I’m sorry your mother never told you the truth.”
“Why didn’tMichelle come today?”
“Mishka,” hecorrected. “Her life is different now. She never forgave yourmother when she learned the truth. She wants nothing to do with herold life.” He moved toward where Emma sat. He patted her shouldertwice, then let his hand drop. “Look, if you want to stay in touchnow that your mother’s gone, well, I guess we could do that. ButMishka…well.”
“There doesn’tseem much point, does there? You have a new life, new childrennow.” Emma stood and straightened her back. She’d accomplished hergoal. She’d come here to find her sister and her father. Instead,she’d somehow lost them.
“I’m sorry, Em.Truly.”
“Me too.”
She held hisglance for a moment and then he walked away and quietly closed thedoor behind him.
CHAPTERNINE
Emma paced the floorafter Dad—no, not Dad—left.
Her thoughtswere a whirlpool as she tried to process everything he’d said. Ifshe wasn’t Emma Donovan, who was she? How could she find out?
In acceptinghis truth, she was also accepting that Mum had cheated. No, it wastoo much to believe. Mum had been the best mother. She, too, hadhurt just as much as Emma when not-Dad and Michelle left. She’dnever remarried; never even looked at another man that Emma couldremember. Her focus had been on Emma, getting her through schooland
