Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN WHO WASN'T MY WIFE
Brooke sat across from me until midnight.
She told me everything.
Not because she wanted forgiveness.
Because she was finally too tired to carry the secret.
"Your mother arranged our marriage."
I stared at her.
"Arranged?"
"Not officially."
She laughed bitterly.
"She introduced us. Warren handled the rest."
"Why?"
"Because they wanted someone who would never challenge the family."
I remembered how quickly Brooke had entered my life.
How perfectly she fit.
How everyone approved.
How my mother had called her "the daughter I always wanted."
And how no one had ever asked whether I was happy.
"Did you love me?"
Brooke looked at me.
"At first."
"And later?"
"I loved what being your wife gave me."
At least she was honest.
"Why help hide Elise's letters?"
"Because Warren promised me security."
"What security?"
"My brother was in trouble."
She explained.
Warren had threatened to expose financial crimes involving Brooke's brother unless she cooperated.
"I thought I was protecting my family."
"You destroyed mine."
"I know."
I stood.
"Where is the doctor?"
Brooke gave me an address.
Then she stopped me.
"Adrian."
I turned.
"There's something else."
"What?"
"Warren didn't just falsify Elise's fertility records."
She swallowed.
"He paid someone at the hospital to alter Lily's birth records."
"Why?"
"To make it appear that Elise had delivered only two babies."
My hands curled into fists.
"Where is the original record?"
"Your mother has it."
I called her immediately.
She didn't answer.
Then my phone received a photograph.
An old document.
A handwritten note.
Lily Marlowe — transferred to Savannah Children's Home.
At the bottom was a signature.
My mother's.
But beside it was another signature.
One I recognized.
Warren.
I drove to Elise's house before sunrise.
She opened the door wearing a gray sweater, her hair pulled back.
The boys were asleep.
"I found something."
She stepped aside.
We sat at her kitchen table.
I showed her the document.
She covered her mouth.
"I never saw this."
"I believe you."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Adrian..."
"I'm sorry."
She looked at me.
"For what?"
"For believing them."
Her expression softened for half a second.
Then she looked away.
"You can't undo six years."
"I know."
"You missed their first words."
"I know."
"Their first steps."
"I know."
"Their first day of school."
My voice broke.
"I know."
She wiped her eyes.
"Then don't ask me to forgive you."
"I won't."
I reached across the table.
"I'm asking you to let me help."
She stared at my hand.
Then she placed hers over it.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But permission.
It was enough.
Later that morning, we went to Savannah Children's Home.
The director searched the records.
After an hour, she returned with a thin file.
"There's a problem."
"What?"
"The adoption was sealed."
"Who adopted her?"
"We can't legally tell you."
I placed my attorney's card on the table.
"I'm her biological father."
The director looked at Elise.
Then me.
"Mr. Caldwell, even biological parents can't automatically access sealed adoption records."
"Then tell me what you can."
She hesitated.
"She was adopted by a couple named Daniel and Grace Whitmore."
Elise gasped.
"Whitmore?"
I looked at her.
"You know them?"
She nodded slowly.
"They lived near my workshop."
"Do they still?"
"No."
The director pulled another paper.
"They moved six years ago."
"Where?"
"North Carolina."
"Address?"
She shook her head.
"However..."
She opened a second file.
"They kept the same pediatrician for several years."
I leaned forward.
"Who?"
The director gave us a name.
Dr. Samuel Hart.
My attorney began searching immediately.
Two hours later, he called.
"Adrian."
"What?"
"I found the Whitmores."
"Where?"
"Charleston."
I looked at Elise.
The same city where I had built my life.
The same city where I had spent six years pretending I had lost everything.
My daughter had been living less than two hours away.
Then my attorney said something else.
"There's a complication."
"What?"
"Daniel Whitmore died three years ago."
"And Grace?"
"Alive."
"Where?"
A pause.
"She owns a bookstore."
I wrote down the address.
Elise stood.
"Let's go."
I looked at her.
"You sure?"
She nodded.
"That's my daughter."
For the first time, I realized something.
This wasn't about me finding my lost child.
It was about Elise finally getting back the daughter someone had stolen from her.
We drove toward Charleston.
Neither of us spoke much.
But halfway there, Elise suddenly reached over and touched my hand.
I looked at her.
She whispered,
"If Lily is alive..."
"What?"
"She needs to know why we let her go."
I swallowed.
"We didn't."
Elise looked out the window.
"No."
May you like
Her voice broke.
"They made us."
