Chapter 49

Lauren

I stared at the medical chart, my eyes scanning the numbers again, hoping they would somehow make sense.

It couldn’t be right. It just couldn’t.

I had my suspicions, sure. The kids, we all seemed to feel this... offness. But this? This was impossible.

I ran my fingers over the chart, my pulse quickening as I traced the genetic markers. They didn’t match what they should have. Owen wasn’t biologically related to Sophia.

Frozen, I blinked at the page, my mind struggling to piece this together.

My heart raced, and before I could think, I stood up, knocking the chair behind me. The floor seemed to spin as my thoughts scattered. If Owen wasn’t Sophia’s son, then who was he?

I grabbed my coat, shoved the chart into my bag, and rushed out of the room. I paused, glancing at the kids. I’d only be gone for a moment.

My footsteps echoed in the sterile hallway as I moved, the weight of the unknown pressing on my chest. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. The records hall was just ahead.

The room was cold and silent, the buzz of fluorescent lights the only sound. My hands shook as I rifled through the drawers, desperate for something that could explain the storm inside me.

Finally, I found it. Owen’s birth record.

My fingers trembled as I opened the folder, my breath catching in my throat. The paper was old, yellowed with time, the ink faded but legible. His name, his birthdate. And then, below it—his mother’s name.

My name.

My real name.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. The truth I had never allowed myself to believe—never even dared to consider—was now glaring at me, impossible to ignore.

Owen wasn’t just any child. He was my child. The son I thought I had lost. The son I had buried in my heart, grieving for him in silence, day after day. The son I had believed had died at birth.

But he hadn’t died. He had been taken.

Taken from me.

I stumbled back from the desk, the papers slipping from my hands and scattering across the floor. I bent down to gather them, my hands trembling violently, my heart pounding so hard I could barely hear anything else.

My son… my baby…

And then, the thought that twisted my insides into knots: What did this mean for me and Alexander?

I stood up, clutching the papers to my chest, trying to hold onto something, anything, as if they could protect me from the storm inside.

Just then, I heard footsteps behind me. My breath caught in my throat, and I spun around, instinctively hiding the papers behind my back. But it was too late. Alexander was already standing in the doorway, his expression tight, his eyes searching mine.

I glanced at him, at the bruise on his head, and a sickening feeling twisted in my gut. Had he been in a fight?

“Lauren…” His voice was low, strained, like he hadn’t stopped running since this morning. “The kids… are they—”

“Safe,” I gasped, nearly choking on the words. “But… I… We—” My mind was a tangled mess.

I didn’t want to tell him. I didn’t want to burden him with this—our son, the truth about Owen. He didn’t even know about Abigail.

He moved closer, his eyes locking with mine, his fingers brushing against my trembling hand holding the folder.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was barely a whisper.

My throat felt tight, constricted.

“Owen is…” I started, but the words got stuck. How could I say it? “Owen is our son,” I finally managed, my voice shaking so much I barely recognized it. “The son I thought I lost.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Alexander didn’t move.

“And Abigail…” I took a shaky breath. “She’s his twin. Both ours.”

More silence.

The air was thick with it, pressing in on us from every side. The seconds stretched into eternity.

Finally, he spoke. His voice was strained, barely audible, as if the words were tearing themselves from him.

“Lauren…” His breath hitched. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice cracking. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

I stepped back. “I didn’t know until now.”

“But you…you knew about Abigail. You lied. Why…” he pressed, his voice rising, a mix of anger. “We could’ve—”

“No,” I interrupted, my voice firm despite the turmoil inside me. “I couldn’t. I thought Owen was gone! Dead! I thought you were happy with Sophia! I mourned my own son! But here he is! Alive!”

Alexander’s face darkened, and I could see the muscles in his jaw tighten. He took a step toward me, but I recoiled instinctively.

“This doesn’t change anything!” I spat, my voice sharp, tight with the rage and heartbreak that had been building inside me for years. “It doesn’t change what happened between us! What you did! What she did!” My hands clenched into fists at my sides, but I was trembling, not with fear, but with the overwhelming weight of everything that had been stolen from me.

Alexander’s jaw clenched even harder, his eyes, those once warm eyes I had trusted, were filled with frustration.

“I know,” he said, his voice low. “I know it doesn’t erase anything. But we’re still a family, Lauren. Our children deserve to be together. To know…me. Us.”

I felt my heart shatter all over again. The weight of his words, the way he said “our children” like it was some sort of simple solution, sent a jagged pain through me.

“No!” I snapped. “I can’t do this. The betrayal, the lies—it’s too much! I can’t forgive you for that!!”

The anger surged in my veins. I wanted to scream, to hit him, to make him understand.

“I didn’t know,” Alexander said. “Why did you think he was dead? Back then what happened—”

“It was Sophia!” I shouted, my voice cracking as I pushed him away with every ounce of strength I had left.

“I know it was! The one you divorced me for! The one you chose over and over again after she took my son! After she nearly killed me! Why would she have my baby now if it wasn’t her?!” My voice rose to a fever pitch, my body shaking with fury. “And you… you… picked her!”

Alexander took a sharp breath, his eyes widening, his expression one of disbelief and pain. He didn’t move, didn’t reach for me again.

“I didn’t—” He started, but his voice trailed off.

“Don’t touch me!” I shouted, stepping back. “Don’t you dare try to touch me after everything you’ve done. After everything she did! How you protected her! I won’t let you make me believe this can be fixed with a simple apology!”

He stood there, silent for a long moment. The pain, the regret, the realization of what had happened—it was all there in his eyes.

I turned on my heel, my hands trembling as I reached for the door. The space between us had never felt so vast, so final.

I didn’t look back. I couldn’t bear to see him standing there, watching me walk away.

As I walked down the hallway, the walls seemed to close in around me. Owen wasn’t just the son I had lost—he was the son I never got to raise, the son I had been kept from. The years I had spent in pain, believing I had lost him forever… they all seemed like a cruel joke now.