Chapter 5 - The Family Secret Revealed
"Mom, what are you talking about?" Mark gritted his teeth, marching over to his mother’s side and gripping her elbow. "They're just Claire’s kids! She probably adopted them, or went through a donor bank just to ruin my shower! Get a grip!"
"Shut up, Mark!" Diane suddenly shrieked, swinging her arm to snap at her son with a fury no one in the Hayes family had ever witnessed before.
The entire ballroom recoiled. Diane Hayes was a woman of rigid etiquette; she had never raised her voice in public in her entire life.
Diane didn't care about the guests. She didn't care about Emily, who was standing up from her velvet throne with a look of utter confusion and panic. Diane lowered herself down onto her knees, ignoring the dirt and spilled wine on the floor, bringing her face level with Luke and Owen.
She stared into Luke’s eyes—dark, almond-shaped, and deep brown. Then her gaze shifted to Owen, studying the exact shape of his jawline, the distinct curve of his eyebrows, and the double crown in his dark brown hair.
"They aren't adopted," Diane whispered, tears welling up in her eyes and spilling over her mascara, running down her pale cheeks. "They aren't donor babies."
"Mom, stop it!" Mark snapped, his face turning beet red. "You're making a spectacle!"
Diane slowly lifted her eyes from the boys to look up at her forty-five-year-old son. The look in her eyes wasn't confusion anymore. It was pure, unadulterated horror.
"Mark... look at his left cheek," Diane breathed, pointing a trembling finger at Luke. "Look at the dimple. Look at the shape of his ears. Look at his hands!"
Mark scoffed, looking down at the toddlers for the first time with actual scrutiny instead of anger. "So what? Kids have dimples! Lots of kids have dark hair!"
"Not that dimple!" Diane cried out, her voice breaking. "That is your father’s dimple, Mark! That is the exact, rare double-crown hair pattern that your grandfather had, that you have, and that your brother has! They are Hayes boys!"
A wave of shocking realization crashed through the room like a tidal wave. Guests began whispering frantically to one another, pointing at the boys and then looking at Mark.
Mark froze. The color slowly drained from his face, leaving his skin an ashy, sickly gray.
"No..." Mark stammered, stepping back as if he had been struck. "No, that’s... that’s impossible. Claire and I... we got divorced four years ago! They're three years old!"
"They turned three two months ago, Mark," I said, my voice ice-cold and ringing with absolute clarity through the ballroom.
Mark stared at me, his eyes wide with horror as his mind raced back through time, doing the terrifying mathematical calculations in his head.
Three years old. Nine months of pregnancy. Four years ago.
His breath hitched. "Three weeks..." he whispered, his voice barely audible. "The night... the night I came to get my boxes..."
"Yes, Mark," I said, looking him dead in the eye, withholding nothing. "The night you told me was a mistake. The night you said changed nothing. Nine months later, I gave birth to your twin sons."
"WHAT?!" Emily’s sharp screech shattered the tension in the room.
Emily stormed down from the stage, her high heels clicking loudly, her face flushed with fury and embarrassment. "Mark, what is she saying?! Are you telling me you slept with your ex-wife after you filed for divorce?! Are those your children?!"
Mark couldn't answer. He couldn't speak. He couldn't breathe. He was staring at Luke and Owen as if ghosts had walked through the doors of the ballroom.
"Mark!" Emily screamed, grabbing his arm and shaking him frantically. "Answer me!"
"They... they can't be mine..." Mark stammered, his confidence completely destroyed, his voice weak and trembling. "The doctors said... the doctors said Claire was the reason we couldn't conceive! They said her ovarian reserve was low!"
"The doctors said unexplained infertility, Mark," I corrected him sharply, stepping closer so everyone in the room could hear every word. "They told us repeatedly that it could be stress, timing, or a combination of both. But you didn't want to hear that. You were so consumed by your own ego, so desperate to find someone to blame, that you blamed me. You humiliated me for seven years. You told your family I was defective. You walked away from our marriage because you couldn't stand looking at a woman who couldn't give you what you wanted."
I reached into my small navy clutch purse and pulled out a folded white piece of paper. I held it out toward him.
May you like
"What is that?" Mark whispered, trembling.
"It’s the official court paternity report," I replied calmly. "I had it done legally two years ago, just in case you ever decided to pop back into my life and cause trouble. They are 99.9% biologically yours, Mark. You are the father of twins."
