I did not tell Elise what I suspected.
Not on the phone.
Not before facts.
I had learned that lesson painfully well.
Instead I asked her to send Thomas Morgan’s full name, birth date, and any information she knew about where he had grown up.
She did.
Thomas Edward Morgan.
Born in 1955.
Raised in a small Pennsylvania town where Ingrid had lived until she left for college.
Same graduating class.
That alone proved nothing.
I repeated the sentence until my breathing steadied.
Same town.
Same generation.
Nothing more.
I called Evelyn.
She listened.
Then she said exactly what I expected.
“Do not tell Elise your theory.”
“I haven’t.”
“Good.”
“But you see it.”
“I see a reason to investigate.”
“Felix thinks Thomas Morgan might be his father.”
“Possibly.”
“And Elise is Thomas’s daughter.”
“Possibly.”
My stomach twisted.
“If both are true—”
“We do not finish that sentence without evidence.”
I closed my eyes.
“Fine.”
But the unfinished sentence remained.
If Thomas Morgan was Felix’s biological father, Felix and Elise could be half siblings.
The affair.
The baby.
Everything became unbearable.
“Would a paternity test between Felix and Elise’s baby show something?”
“Ask a genetic counselor.”
“You’re serious?”
“Completely.”
“If there is a possibility of close biological relation, this is beyond something you and I should interpret from internet searches.”
That afternoon, Elise’s attorney arranged a consultation with a clinical genetic counselor.
I did not attend.
This was no longer my medical question.
Elise called afterward.
Her voice was quiet.
“My attorney told me what you were worried about.”
I closed my eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything.”
“Neither did you.”
“We don’t know anything yet.”
“No.”
She breathed.
“But if Thomas was Felix’s father…”
“We don’t know.”
“I slept with my brother.”
The words came out broken.
“Elise.”
“I’m going to be sick.”
“Listen to me.”
She was crying now.
“You did not know.”
Neither of them had.
For all the anger I carried toward Elise, that mattered.
If the possibility was true, Ingrid’s secret had placed two people in a situation neither could reasonably have anticipated.
“Your lawyer will get facts.”
“How?”
“My uncle.”
Of course.
Thomas Morgan’s surviving brother.
A close biological relative could help establish the connection.
“Will he cooperate?”
“I haven’t spoken to him in years.”
“Why?”
“Family argument after Dad died.”
“About what?”
“Money. My grandmother’s estate.”
She inhaled shakily.
“I have to call him.”
“You don’t have to do anything this minute.”
“Yes, I do.”
I understood.
Waiting could be worse than knowing.
Her uncle’s name was Robert Morgan.
He lived outside Phoenix.
Elise reached him that evening.
He remembered Ingrid.
Not vaguely.
Very clearly.
They had dated.
The news reached me through Evelyn the following morning.
I sat in her conference room with both hands wrapped around coffee I did not drink.
“For how long?”
“Robert says Thomas and Ingrid were together during their final year of high school and part of the following summer.”
“When was Felix born?”
“Approximately nine months after Ingrid married Helmut.”
My stomach tightened.
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“No.”
“Did Thomas know she was pregnant?”
“Robert doesn’t know.”
“Did Helmut?”
“Unknown.”
“Does Robert have proof they dated?”
“Photographs.”
I looked up.
“Photographs?”
“Old family albums.”
One image had already been scanned.
Evelyn turned her laptop toward me.
The photograph was faded.
A teenage Ingrid stood beside a young man with dark hair.
Thomas Morgan.
His arm rested around her shoulders.
They were laughing.
I had seen photographs of young Felix.
The resemblance was not proof.
I knew that.
Still, it hit me immediately.
The eyes.
The shape of the mouth.
Something around the jaw.
I pushed the laptop away.
“Oh God.”
“Appearance is not evidence.”
“I know.”
“Robert agreed to genetic testing.”
“How quickly?”
“A sample kit is being arranged.”
“And Elise?”
“Her attorney is handling the medical implications separately.”
I looked again at the photograph.
“What about Felix?”
“What about him?”
“He must have found this.”
“Likely.”
“The investigator found it.”
“Possibly.”
“Then Felix already suspects.”
“Yes.”
“And Ingrid knows he suspects.”
“That appears likely.”
My anger returned.
“So they knew there was a possibility Felix and Elise were related.”
“We do not know when Ingrid learned Felix was involved with Elise.”
“She knows now.”
“Yes.”
“And she still cares more about controlling the baby than telling them.”
Evelyn did not answer.
There was no defense for it.
“Why adoption?” I asked.
“Think.”
“I have been thinking.”
“No. Think about what adoption accomplishes for Ingrid.”
I looked at the photograph.
The baby would live with Felix.
With me.
Elise would be removed.
Records would be private.
The child would be raised inside the Weber family.
Helmut might never know who the biological mother was.
Then I understood.
“She wants Elise gone.”
“Yes.”
“Not just because of the affair.”
“Possibly.”
“Because Elise’s identity connects the baby to Thomas Morgan.”
“That is one interpretation.”
“If I adopt the baby, everyone can say the mother was anonymous.”
“Depending on the arrangement.”
“And Helmut never asks why his granddaughter’s maternal family looks familiar.”
Evelyn folded her hands.
“It would reduce the chance of certain questions.”
I felt sick.
“What about Felix?”
“He may have a different motive.”
“What?”
“He wants his child.”
“Assuming it’s safe to call the baby that.”
“The paternity test says he is the biological father.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
Felix might want the baby near him regardless of what the genetic relationship with Elise turned out to be.
That thought chilled me.
“Does he know there could be health risks?”
“Unknown.”
“He should.”
“Yes.”
“And he still pressures her.”
“Yes.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“He’s protecting himself.”
“Likely one motive.”
“From Helmut.”
“Possibly.”
“From everyone.”
Evelyn closed the laptop.
“Stop trying to reduce this to one motive. People can be selfish in several directions at once.”
I laughed despite myself.
“That should be on your business card.”
“I prefer my phone number.”
The genetic test would take time.
Meanwhile, life continued.
That was perhaps the strangest part.
I went to work.
Answered emails.
Bought toothpaste.
Ate cereal.
Felix complained that our dishwasher sounded strange.
The world did not acknowledge that our family structure had become a puzzle made of hidden paternity, adultery, money, and an unborn child.
On Wednesday night, Sabine called.
Not Felix.
Me.
“Are you busy?”
Her voice sounded different.
“No.”
“Can I come over?”
I hesitated.
“Why?”
“I need to talk.”
“About what?”
“Felix.”
My pulse quickened.
“When?”
“Now.”
Felix was at a client dinner.
At least that was what he had told me.
I called Evelyn before answering Sabine.
She advised caution but saw no reason I could not speak with her.
Sabine arrived twenty minutes later.
She looked exhausted.
No makeup.
Hair pulled into a loose ponytail.
I had never seen her enter my house without appearing completely assembled.
She sat at the kitchen table.
I made coffee.
For several minutes she said nothing.
Then she asked, “Is Felix having an affair?”
The directness stunned me.
I placed the mug in front of her.
“Why are you asking me?”
“Because he’s lying to everyone.”
“About what?”
“Everything.”
I sat opposite her.
“Sabine.”
She looked at me.
For once there was no mockery in her face.
“I think Elise’s baby is his.”
I did not react.
“How did you get there?”
“I’m not stupid.”
I thought of years of German insults.
No, Sabine was not stupid.
Cruel sometimes.
Spoiled.
But not stupid.
“I saw them together last year.”
“Where?”
“Hotel bar.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“Mom.”
Of course.
“When?”
“August.”
My stomach tightened.
Ingrid had known about the affair months before the pregnancy.
“What did she say?”
“That I was mistaken.”
“And you believed her?”
“No.”
“Did you confront Felix?”
“Eventually.”
“What did he say?”
“That he and Elise were discussing business.”
I almost laughed.
Sabine did.
“He’s a terrible liar when he thinks you already know.”
Interesting.
“Why come to me now?”
She looked down.
“Because Dad is acting strange.”
“Helmut?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of strange?”
“He asked me for a blood sample.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Why?”
“He said his doctor wanted family medical information.”
“Did you give it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because Dad doesn’t ask people for blood samples.”
Fair.
“Did he ask Felix?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your mother?”
“She told me to stop asking questions.”
Sabine rubbed both hands over her face.
“I heard them fighting.”
“Who?”
“Mom and Dad.”
“When?”
“Monday.”
“What did they say?”
“Mostly German.”
I nearly smiled at the irony.
“What did you understand?”
She gave me an irritated look.
“All of it, Nora.”
“Right.”
The habit of exclusion had become so ingrained that I had briefly forgotten German was Sabine’s first language.
She continued.
“Dad accused Mom of hiding financial transactions.”
Fernbrook.
The seventy-five thousand dollars.
“He found the money?”
“I think so.”
“What else?”
“He said Daniel had warned him something was wrong.”
Daniel.
The lawyer who had arrived at Sunday lunch.
Perhaps we had misunderstood his role.
Maybe he was not helping Helmut attack Elise.
Maybe he was investigating the family itself.
“What did Ingrid say?”
“She told him Felix needed help.”
“What kind?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
Sabine looked at me.
“Then Dad said something strange.”
“What?”
“He said, ‘I will not be made a fool twice.’”
The words settled between us.
Twice.
“What did he mean?”
“I don’t know.”
Neither did I.
But someone did.
I looked at Sabine.
“Why are you telling me?”
Her face tightened.
“Because I think everyone is lying to you.”
The sentence was almost funny.
“Yes.”
She mistook my answer for agreement rather than confirmation.
“And because…”
She stopped.
“What?”
“I found something in Mom’s desk.”
She reached into her handbag.
A photograph.
Not the one Evelyn had shown me.
Older.
A wedding photograph.
Ingrid in white.
Helmut beside her.
Behind them stood several young guests.
One was Thomas Morgan.
I stared.
“You recognize him?” Sabine asked.
I looked up too quickly.
Her eyes narrowed.
There was no safe lie.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because Felix had the same photograph.”
My pulse accelerated.
“When?”
“January.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw it in his car.”
She leaned toward me.
“Nora, who is that man?”
I looked down at Thomas Morgan’s young face.
Sabine had come to me because she believed I was the only person outside the conspiracy.
She had no idea that I knew more than she did.
Before I could answer, headlights swept across the front window.
A car entered the driveway.
Sabine looked toward the door.
“That’s Felix.”
He was supposed to be at dinner for another two hours.
I stood.
“Put the photograph away.”
“Why?”
“Do it.”
Something in my voice made her obey.
The front door opened.
Felix stepped inside.
He saw Sabine’s coat.
Then her.
Then me.
His expression changed so completely that I understood one thing at once.
Whatever secrets he believed I might know, seeing his sister sitting at my kitchen table frightened him more.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
Sabine stood.
“Talking to your wife.”
Felix looked at me.
“About what?”
Sabine’s hand moved toward her handbag.
I caught her eye.
Do not.
She stopped.
“Family stuff,” she said.
The phrase landed like a private joke only I understood.
Felix did not smile.
Click here to continue reading: PART 12: Sabine’s Questions Cornered Felix at Our Kitchen Table, Until Helmut Arrived With Evidence That Finally Made Pretending Impossible for Someone
My Husband Raised His Glass, Spoke in the Language He Thought Was Safe, and Changed Our Marriage Before Dessert Arrived
Part 11 of 35
