Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN WHO RAISED MY DAUGHTER
Hannah Vale had loved Emma.
That became clear from the photographs recovered from her apartment.
Emma at two, covered in birthday cake.
Emma at four, wearing a paper crown.
Emma at six, sleeping beside a Christmas tree.
Hannah had written little notes on the backs.
My sunshine.
My brave girl.
The best thing that ever happened to me.
I stared at those photographs for a long time.
This woman had raised my daughter.
She had loved her.
Protected her.
And apparently died trying to keep her safe.
I didn't know whether to feel grateful or furious.
Both emotions lived inside me.
Rebecca arranged for Emma to receive support from a child psychologist.
She also explained that Emma could not simply be handed over to me because I believed she was my daughter.
We needed legal proof.
A custody process.
And careful consideration of Emma's emotional needs.
I agreed.
But every night, I lay awake imagining her alone beneath that oak tree.
Waiting for an aunt who never returned.
Wondering whether anyone wanted her.
The DNA results arrived six days later.
Evelyn called me to her office.
I sat down.
She placed the report in front of me.
I stared at the numbers.
Then looked at her.
"Tell me."
She smiled sadly.
"Marcus, the results establish that you're Emma's biological father."
My vision blurred.
I looked down again.
Emma.
My daughter.
Alive.
Seven years old.
For seven years, I'd believed I had one child.
But somewhere in Chicago, another little girl had been learning to walk.
Learning to speak.
Losing teeth.
Celebrating birthdays.
And I hadn't been there.
May you like
I covered my face.
For the first time in years, I cried without trying to stop.
