Chapter 7: The Letter My Wife Left Behind
I didn't open Danielle's letter immediately.
I carried it into my office, closed the door, and sat beneath the photograph I had kept on my desk for twelve years.
Danielle stood barefoot on a beach, her dark hair blowing across her face, laughing at something beyond the frame.
I had taken that picture two summers before she died.
We had spent the afternoon building sandcastles with Jasmine, who was four at the time and furious that the ocean kept destroying her towers.
Danielle had laughed until she cried.
That evening, she had told me she wanted another child someday.
I had kissed her forehead and promised we would talk about it when life became less hectic.
We never got that chance.
She died six years later, leaving behind a little girl who still slept with her mother's scarf tucked beneath her pillow.
Now I sat in the same office, holding a letter that suggested I might not have known my own family as well as I believed.
My hands shook as I broke the seal.
Inside were three pages of handwritten notes and a small photograph.
I recognized Danielle's handwriting immediately.
Marcus,
If you're reading this, Jasmine has turned eighteen. I hope she's happy. I hope she's healthy. And I hope you've found a way to live without blaming yourself for losing me.
I stopped.
For several minutes, I couldn't read another word.
Then I forced myself to continue.
There is something I should have told you years ago. I wanted to tell you many times, but every time I tried, I remembered how happy you were when Jasmine was born. I was afraid that the truth would take something away from you that you could never get back.
My chest tightened.
Jasmine is your daughter in every way that matters. You held her before anyone else. You stayed awake beside her hospital bed when she was sick. You taught her to ride a bicycle, helped her with her homework, and sat beside her when she cried because she missed me.
No secret can change those things.
I put the letter down.
The words blurred.
Then I picked it up again.
Before I met you, I made a terrible mistake. I trusted someone who promised me he would be there when I needed him. When I became pregnant, he disappeared. When I told him I intended to raise the baby, he threatened to take her from me.
I stared at the page.
Danielle had been pregnant before we met.
Jasmine was eighteen now. Danielle had died when Jasmine was six, twelve years earlier.
The timeline was possible.
But it made no sense with the life I remembered.
Danielle and I had met in college. We had dated for two years before marrying. Jasmine was born three years after our wedding.
Unless Danielle had lied about something else.
I kept reading.
When I met you, I was already carrying a secret. I told myself that love would be enough to build a life with you. I wanted to believe that if I never spoke about the past, it would remain where it belonged.
But the man I once trusted never stopped looking for us.
My fingers tightened around the paper.
His name is—
The page ended.
I flipped it over.
Nothing.
I searched the remaining sheets, but the sentence had not been completed.
A small note had been attached to the back of the photograph.
If you need proof, speak to Dr. Elaine Porter at St. Mary's. She kept the original records.
I stared at the name.
Dr. Elaine Porter.
I remembered her.
She had been Danielle's obstetrician.
She had also signed Jasmine's birth certificate.
I took out my phone and searched for her number in my old contacts. It took several attempts, but I eventually found an entry labeled Dr. Porter—Jasmine's birth.
I called.
A woman's voice answered after four rings.
“Hello?””
“Dr. Porter? This is Marcus Reed. Danielle Reed was my wife.””
Silence.
Then a quiet sigh.
“I remember you, Marcus.””
“I found a letter Danielle left me. She mentioned you and some original records.””
Another pause.
“I wondered when you'd call.””
My blood ran cold.
“You knew about this?””
“Your wife asked me to keep certain documents secure.””
“Why?””
“Because she was afraid someone would alter them.””
I stood so quickly my chair rolled backward.
“What documents?””
“Marcus, I can't discuss private medical information over the phone.””
“Then tell me when I can see you.””
“Tomorrow morning. Nine o'clock. St. Mary's medical records office.””
“Will you tell me the truth?””
Her voice softened.
“I'll show you what I can legally show you. But I need you to understand something before you come.””
“What?””
“Whatever you discover, don't let anyone convince you that a biological connection is the same thing as being a parent.””
I closed my eyes.
“Dr. Porter, are you telling me Jasmine isn't my biological daughter?””
She was silent long enough for me to hear her breathing.
Then she said, “Come tomorrow, Marcus.””
The line went dead.
I sat down slowly.
A moment later, my office door opened.
Jasmine stood in the doorway.
Her eyes were red, and she held the small photograph from Danielle's letter.
“Dad, I read it.””
I stared at her.
“You went through my desk?””
“You left it open.””
I couldn't blame her.
She stepped inside and sat opposite me.
“Is Mom saying you aren't my biological father?””
I swallowed.
“I think that's what she was trying to tell me.””
Jasmine looked down at the photograph.
“Then why did she never tell me?””
“I don't know.””
“Did you know?””
“No. Never.””
She nodded slowly.
Then she asked the question I had dreaded.
“If I'm not biologically yours, does that mean I have another family?””
I leaned forward.
“Listen to me. You are my daughter. That has never been in question.””
“But what if he wants me?””
“Then he'll have to understand that you're a person, not something he can claim.””
She stared at the floor.
“I don't want another father.””
I felt tears burn behind my eyes.
“You don't have to make any decisions tonight.””
She reached across the desk and took my hand.
“Promise me something.””
“Anything.””
“If we find out who he is, don't let him take you away from me.””
I squeezed her hand.
“Nothing will take me away from you.””
For the first time that evening, she leaned into my shoulder.
We sat together until the house grew quiet.
At nine the following morning, I drove to St. Mary's.
Dr. Porter was waiting in a small consultation room. She looked older than I remembered, with silver hair and a thin gold chain around her neck.
She placed a folder on the table.
“Before I show you these records, I need to ask you something.””
“Go ahead.””
“Did Felicia Coleman contact you?””
I stiffened.
“Yes. She was married to me for seven years.””
Dr. Porter looked troubled.
“Did she tell you she worked in medical records here?””
“Yes.””
“Did she tell you why she left?””
“No.””
The doctor opened the folder.
“Because she was dismissed for accessing a confidential file she had no authorization to view.””
My mouth went dry.
“What file?””
“Danielle's.””
She turned the first page toward me.
It was a laboratory report.
The name at the top belonged to a man I had never heard of.
Below it was a DNA comparison between that man and Jasmine.
I stared at the result.
Then I looked at Dr. Porter.
“Who is this man?””
She folded her hands.
“His name is Daniel Coleman.””
I felt my pulse pounding in my ears.
“Coleman?””
“Yes.””
“Is he related to Felicia?””
“Daniel was her older brother.””
The room tilted.
Felicia's younger brother Derrick.
Her older brother Daniel.
A family I had known for seven years had been connected to my daughter's past long before I ever met them.
“Why did Danielle give Felicia money?”” I whispered.
Dr. Porter turned another page.
“Because Danielle discovered that Daniel had been trying to locate Jasmine. She believed Felicia could help keep the records secure.””
I stared at the report.
Then I noticed the date.
The test had been performed eighteen years earlier.
And the result was unmistakable.
Daniel Coleman was Jasmine's biological father.
But before I could ask another question, Dr. Porter reached into the folder and removed a second document.
“This is the part Danielle never wanted you to see.””
I looked down.
It was a court filing.
A petition for parental rights.
And beside the petitioner's name was a date from just three months before Danielle died.
Daniel Coleman had tried to claim Jasmine long before Felicia entered my life.
The petition had been withdrawn.
But the signature authorizing the withdrawal was not Daniel's.
It was mine.
I stared at the page in horror.
“I never signed this.””
Dr. Porter nodded grimly.
“I know.””
She slid the document closer.
May you like
“Someone used your identity to stop the case.””
And at the bottom of the page, in the witness section, was the signature of Felicia Coleman.
