“Not one moment was your fault.”
“You never tried to adopt again?”
“Three heartbreaks were enough on top of the miscarriages.” He laughs. “We got the girls, named one of the originals after your mom another was Fifi after you.”
“What?” I laugh.
“Fifi,” he smiles sadly. “You introduced yourself to me as Fifi because you couldn’t for the life of you say Sofie.”
“What happened with the other two?”
“Pardon?” He asks.
“You said three heartbreaks, I assumed Mom was one.”
He nods, “And you were two.”
“The third?”
“Technically, Marcy was the first. Right before your mom.” He scowls. “Your Dad.” He shakes his head.
“My Dad, what?” I insist.
He locks eyes with mine. “Marcy said she was pregnant and needed to leave because the father of the baby she was carrying was a rich man who would take her from him.”
“What does that have to do with my dad?” I ask, assuming he’s confused, hell, so am I, but his eyes narrow. “He was poor after the divorce. He was?—”
“He wasn’t a billionaire then, but the man had money.”
“That’s a huge assumption,” I say, but something inside doesn’t allow me to be angry at Paul.
He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. “We sent Marcy money a few times when she called to check in. Used Western Union back then. Then she stopped calling. We had the local police in the town she lived in look for her. Hired a PI. They poked around, and a few people knew her by a different name. In the end, we were told that if she needed us, she would reach out as she had. Patsy couldn’t deal with it. We had no choice but to believe she didn’t need us or want us. Marcy was,” he pauses, “A handful, lots of boys, drinking, not coming home. We accepted that.”
“I am so sorry, but again, what does my dad have to do with this? He’d never?—”
“I’m not trying to sound like a crazy old man, and I have no DNA proof, or anything but a gut feeling.”
He pulls four old pictures from his wallet and lays them out, “Tell me what you see.”
Before my eyes fill entirely, I look at the picture of my Mom before she was my mom, with Paul and Patsy, one of me and Mom, and Patsy, and one of a young and handsome Paul and Patsy. I look at the one I don’t know, and it only takes me a second to realize that’s not true; I know her. The woman in the picture looks exactly like Claudia.
“Paul,” I sob softly.
“That’s our Marcy.” He says quietly. “I believe she’s Claudia’s mother.”
I hug him, and I hug him so tight, “Thank you for loving my mom. And I don’t want my father to be the man who hada younger, vulnerable woman kink, but God Paul, if she’s my sister?—”
“My girls, Patsy’s girls.” He says, hugging me just as tight.
My phone vibrates, and I reluctantly pull back, “I don’t wanna deal with whatever that is.”
“You’re an important,” he forces a laugh. “Billionaire-ess.”
“I’m…” I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” He pulls a hanky out of his pocket and wipes my face.
“Paul, I was two seconds away from apologizing for being such a bitch when we first met, but I’m afraid it’s going to get worse if that thing has been used.”
