Page 53 of Revealing Mark
Half-sibling. Matthew. My insides felt like they were being torn as I shook my head. “That can’t be true.” Sophie hadn’t been born yet.
“I have your original birth certificate.”
He held out a paper and I took it from him.
My eyes darted to the mother and I read her full name. Michelle Gayle Weiss. But where I expected to see my father’s name, I saw a stranger’s name, Robert Kyle Westwood.
“I…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
I reeled from the evidence and I was lost.
“I need to discuss the details of your father’s will but I can see you need time to digest the news I’ve given you.”
I swallowed as my eyes lifted to his and I nodded. I wanted him out of my apartment, his revelation unwanted.
“I’ll leave you my business card and you can give me a call when you are ready to hear the details of the will.”
He handed me a card and I held it in my hand.
“This has been quite a shock.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled and got to my feet. He shrugged his jacket on and put the papers that had been sitting on the table back into his briefcase.
I headed to the door and held it open for him.
He paused just before he left my apartment. “It would probably be a good time to mention you have half-siblings from your father.”
That shattered another part of me. “I’ll call you soon,” I whispered, closing the door behind him before he could tell me anything more.
I was fixed to the spot.
I swallowed when my eyes settled on a photo of my family and I found myself picking up the frame, studying it with the new information I had just received. Not my father? I studied him in the picture and realized how different I looked. I looked nothing like my older and younger siblings, either. Matthew and Sophie had always looked more like each other than like me. They had always teased me, saying I had the proverbial milkman’s eyes. But there was nothing funny about it now. While that had been going on, my parents had known the truth and said nothing.
It was then I saw the evidence and then I felt the first tear slide down my face, quickly followed by another. When my eyes drifted to my mother, I gripped the frame so tightly, my control snapped and I threw the picture against the wall. It shattered and landed in a mess of broken glass on the floor. I leaned against the wall and cried.
I slid down the wall and pulled my knees to my chin while my gaze fixed on the broken frame. That was how I felt, broken. My father, the man who had raised me, wasn’t really my father, and my mother had kept a secret like this from me. The betrayal was too much to digest.
My whole life I had resisted being told what to do and otherpeople had decided what had been best for me. I hadn’t had a voice in it and I felt like I had lost something I would never find again. I didn’t even know what he looked like. I closed my eyes and more tears escaped.
A fury I had never experienced before brought me back to my feet and I went to every photo I had in my living room and threw them all against the wall, one after the other. Every shatter did nothing to ease the pain washing up inside me like I was drowning beneath the pressure of it.
The damage to the wall was nothing compared to the pain I was experiencing.
When there were no more photos, I sank into the sofa and sat with my hand covering my mouth as I sobbed. I had always felt different, and now that there was a reason, it only made the betrayal worse.
For a moment I wondered if my siblings knew, but I couldn’t believe they would know this and wouldn’t feel compelled to tell me.
My face dropped into my hands and I cried again. There was no stopping the pain or the betrayal that tore through me.
My whole world had been a lie and I had no idea what I was going to do.
I was numb. It was the only way to describe the emptiness inside of me, but it was a relief from the pain I had wrestled with for the last few days. I hadn’t answered any phone calls and I had canceled all my work commitments for the week. All knocks to my apartment door had also gone unanswered. First there had been Matthew and then Mark.
I had curled up in the corner of the living room, wishing they would go away.
Sleep and food had been practically nonexistent. I wasexhausted but unable to sleep more than a few hours. My stomach growled. It had been difficult to separate my physical pain from my emotional turmoil.
It was early morning when there was a determined knock. I lay in my bed, unable to even get up.
