I walked down the hallway with my heart pounding.
When I reached Room 114, I pressed my palm against the door and listened.
My mother was speaking inside.
“She deserves to know,” she said. “She’s stronger than you think.”
Logan answered, his voice tense.
“And what if this lead fails too? What if we tell her and break her heart for nothing?”
I froze.
They were not speaking like two people having an affair.
They were talking about me.
Logan said they had been searching for almost a year and had already reached several dead ends.
Searching for what?
I could no longer remain outside.
I pushed the door open.
Logan and my mother turned toward me. A third person sat at a table covered with documents.
There were medical records, photographs, and papers that looked like Noah’s adoption documents.
“What is this?” I demanded.
Logan jumped to his feet.
“Please let me explain.”
I refused to sit down. I told them Noah had seen them and asked whether they understood what he—and I—had assumed.
The stranger introduced himself as Mr. Hollis, a private investigator Logan had hired six months earlier.
“Investigating what?” I asked.
Logan looked at the medical papers.
“Noah’s biological family.”
CONTINUE READING…>>
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