Finally, the nurse returned with a thin folder.
“Sir,” she said gently, “your wife gave birth to twin girls. Both were healthy. One was released to a private adoption agency within hours of birth. The other, Sophie, was discharged with your wife.”
I stared at her, the world going silent — like someone had hit mute.
“Are you sure?” I whispered.
She nodded. “I double-checked. It’s here in the records.”
I sank into the nearest chair, my thoughts spinning. Irene had kept this from me through her pregnancy, through childbirth, and even as she lay dying.
For a long moment, I couldn’t move. All I could do was replay the years of silence, the distance between us, and the unanswered questions.
Maybe she’d been overwhelmed. Maybe she’d thought I wouldn’t understand. Maybe… maybe she was right.
Sophie had grown up missing something she never knew she’d lost. And Irene had carried that secret to her grave.
I took a deep breath. I didn’t know what I would do next, but one thing was certain — our lives would never be the same again.
On the flight back to Los Angeles, I couldn’t sleep. The nurse’s words echoed in my head, and I kept seeing Irene — her trembling hands, her distant eyes, the way she used to rest her palm on her stomach, as if saying goodbye too soon.
I had to find the truth.
