“At first, I told myself I was hallucinating. Trying to bring you back from the dead. I never got over losing you. It destroyed me. But then I saw you again. At the fundraiser. We talked. And I knew it was you.”
He looked away, then back.
“So I hired a private investigator. He found out about your foster placement. About the girl found in Boston a few days after the storm, with a large scar and complete memory loss.”
“Oh, God, Daniel...” It all crashed down at once, the gravity of what he’d done. “You knew,” I said, my voice rising. “You knew all along who I really was. And you didn’t tell me.” The words came out sharp, accusatory.
“I did. But I swear, Emily, you have to believe me. When I first met you, I didn’t mean to fall in love with you. I just wantedto be close to you. But then...being with you again. It triggered so many emotions in me. You were the only person who ever loved me.”
My face sank into my hands. My breath was hot against my palms. “God, it all makes sense. Of course, a man like you could never fall for a woman like me.”
“What do you mean?” He was suddenly beside me, reaching for my hand.
I pulled it away without looking at him. “I mean, you didn’t fall forme, Daniel. Who I am now. You fell for your—” The words got stuck, jammed in my throat. Then the anger carried them out anyway. “You fell for your sister. Based on some past trauma. Some bond formed with blood and tears.”
“No.” His voice snapped out sharply, like the accusation offended him more than the truth behind it.
“No?” My eyes shot up to meet his. “Are we not brother and sister, Daniel?”
“Not by blood. We weren’t even raised together. We met as kids. I was six, you were eight. And we barely spent more than a year in the same house.”
I jumped off the bed, stepping toward him. “We’re brother and sister in the eyes of the law. And youmarriedme, knowing that.”
“In the eyes of the law, we’re husband and wife now,” he said, quietly but firmly. “And I always loved you. Back then, just as much as the first time I saw you again in Boston. Saving lives like you always did. That’s just who you are. And that’s just what I love about you. Then and now.”
Frustration coiled up in my chest, almost choking me. “But that wasn’t something you had the right to hide from me. You should’ve told me the truth from the beginning. Let me decide how far to take things. Instead, I feel like I was tricked intosomething that feels...wrong. Something society would cast us out for.”
“Fuck society. Where was society when my dad beat the crap out of us? When he would’ve killed us all if your mom hadn’t pulled the trigger first?”
He wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t make the weight in my chest go away.
“You still should’ve told me. And let’s not forget that you also brought me here and made me think I was losing my mind. My mother was in thebasement, Daniel. And you knew how desperate I was to figure out who I really was. What happened to me.”
He stumbled back a step. Apparently, that one had landed.
“I know,” he said, his voice rough. “I wanted to tell you. I really did. But how could I? When we met, you were slipping into a psychological crisis. I kept thinking I’d tell you after Thanksgiving. Then Christmas. Then birthdays. Then the wedding. It never felt like the right moment. Then the thing with your therapist Cynthia happened. You were struggling so much.”
He rubbed his face.
“My plan was always to bring you here once your mental health stabilized. Once you were strong enough. But it never happened. You didn’t get better. You got worse. I was terrified this would shatter you. I kept hoping you’d start to remember slowly. At your own pace. Or maybe forget it all completely.”
“Forget it all completely?” My voice cracked. “I wasdyingto remember, Daniel. Literally dying.”
“I know. I know.” He sounded broken. “But how was I supposed to say any of this to you, Emily? ‘Hi, I’m Daniel. We lived together for a few months before your mom killed my dad. Those were the best months of my life.’”
The sarcasm slipped through, but it wasn’t cutting. It was hollow, desperate—a dark truth that tasted too bitter to say plainly.
And the worst part? Some of it made sense. I didn’t doubt that he loved me. Or that he wanted me safe. Wanted me well. But that didn’t erase the betrayal. Even good intentions can do damage.
“Did you ever think that maybe, if you told me the truth, I wouldn’t have married you?” My words came slower now, more pointed. “Or even divorced you? Was that part of the reason why you kept it hidden?”
He looked at me. His mouth moved like he wanted to speak, but nothing came out. No answer. No defense.
“Goddamn it, Daniel.” My voice dropped to a whisper: a quiet mix of disbelief and exhaustion.
Then another truth hit me. If Michael Winthrop wasn’t my dad...
“Do you know who my real dad is?” I asked.
