PART 3 — THE FATHER WAS HIS FATHER
Victor read the name once.
Then again.
Then a third time, as though staring hard enough might rearrange the letters.
It didn’t.
The paper still said the same thing.
Walter Reynolds.
Victor’s father.
Probability of paternity: 99.98%.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Samantha stood behind Victor with one hand covering her mouth.
Naomi remained beside the bedroom dresser, crying silently.
And Walter Reynolds stood near the doorway with the expression of a man watching the walls of his entire life collapse around him.
Victor finally looked up.
His voice came out barely above a whisper.
“Dad?”
Walter said nothing.
Victor lifted the paper.
“Tell me this is fake.”
Walter’s jaw tightened.
“Victor—”
“Tell me it’s fake!”
Naomi flinched.
Samantha closed the bedroom door.
“Keep your voice down.”
Victor turned on her.
“Keep my voice down?”
His laughter sounded almost frightening.
“Our father got my girlfriend pregnant, Samantha.”
Naomi snapped, “I wasn’t your girlfriend when it started.”
Victor stared at her.
That sentence landed almost as hard as the test result.
“What did you just say?”
Naomi immediately realized her mistake.
Victor stepped closer.
“When it started?”
She looked away.
“When did it start?”
Walter finally spoke.
“Victor, enough.”
Victor turned toward him.
“You don’t get to say enough.”
“Lower your voice.”
“You slept with Naomi!”
Walter’s face hardened.
“I made a mistake.”
Victor froze.
A mistake.
The same word Victor had used when I first discovered messages between him and Naomi.
A mistake.
It was strange how betrayal always became smaller when the betrayer had to describe it.
Victor crushed the test result in his fist.
“How many times?”
Walter didn’t answer.
Victor looked at Naomi.
“How many times?”
She wiped her face.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“It happened before you and I were serious.”
Victor stared at her in disbelief.
“We were sleeping together.”
“You were still married.”
“And that made sleeping with my father acceptable?”
“No.”
“Then explain it.”
Naomi suddenly became angry.
Maybe anger felt safer than shame.
“You want an explanation?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
She stepped away from the dresser.
“You kept promising me you were leaving Penelope.”
Victor’s expression darkened.
“I did leave her.”
“After months.”
“I had children.”
Naomi gave a bitter laugh.
“You barely remembered you had children once I got pregnant.”
That silenced him.
Even Samantha looked at Naomi differently after that.
Naomi continued.
“You told me every week that you were talking to lawyers. You told me your marriage was dead. You told me Penelope meant nothing to you anymore.”
Victor swallowed.
“And while I was waiting, your father started checking on me.”
Walter closed his eyes.
“Naomi.”
“No. He wants the truth.”
She pointed toward Walter.
“He called after meetings. He offered to help me professionally. He told me you had a history of losing interest once things became difficult.”
Victor stared at his father.
“You said that?”
Walter didn’t deny it.
Naomi continued.
“During the Chicago conference, I was furious with you. You had canceled another weekend with me because Charlotte was sick.”
Victor’s expression shifted.
His daughter.
He had canceled on his mistress because his five-year-old daughter had a fever.
At the time, he had complained to me that he was missing an “important networking dinner.”
Now he was learning what had really been waiting for him.
Naomi looked down.
“Walter came to Chicago the second night.”
Samantha’s head snapped toward their father.
“You weren’t scheduled for Chicago.”
Walter’s silence answered her.
“You flew there for Naomi?” she asked.
Walter rubbed his forehead.
“It wasn’t planned that way.”
Victor laughed again.
“Of course it wasn’t.”
“Victor—”
“No, Dad. Please. Tell me how accidentally buying a plane ticket works.”
Walter’s voice sharpened.
“I said I made a mistake.”
“And then what? You accidentally booked a hotel room too?”
“Stop.”
“How long?”
Walter stared at the floor.
Victor stepped closer.
“How long were you sleeping with her?”
Naomi answered.
“About two months.”
Samantha whispered, “Oh my God.”
Victor’s entire face changed.
Two months meant this hadn’t been one drunken night in Chicago.
It had been an affair.
Hidden inside another affair.
Walter had been betraying Miriam.
Naomi had been betraying Victor.
Victor had been betraying me.
A perfect circle of people lying to one another while somehow believing they deserved honesty in return.
Victor looked toward Naomi.
“You told me I was the father.”
“I thought you were.”
“No. You didn’t.”
“I did at first.”
He held up the laboratory report.
“You took a paternity test three weeks ago.”
Naomi didn’t respond.
“You’ve known for three weeks.”
Silence.
Victor’s voice dropped.
“You let me divorce my wife this morning believing this was my son.”
Naomi’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t you dare put your divorce on me.”
Victor flinched.
“You were leaving Penelope whether this baby existed or not. That’s what you told me.”
“I—”
“You said your marriage was miserable.”
Victor looked suddenly uncomfortable.
Because betrayal becomes difficult to defend when your own words are repeated back to you.
Naomi stepped closer.
“You said Penelope had become boring.”
Samantha’s face tightened.
“You said you had nothing in common anymore.”
Victor glanced toward his sister.
Naomi wasn’t finished.
“You said she cared more about the girls than about you.”
Victor whispered, “Stop.”
“You said you deserved someone who made you feel alive.”
“Enough.”
“And now you’re acting like I destroyed your marriage?”
Victor exploded.
“You slept with my father!”
“And you slept with me while your wife was at home raising your children!”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Walter looked away.
Samantha slowly lowered herself onto the edge of the bed.
For once, Victor had no response.
Because Naomi was wrong about many things.
But not that.
Meanwhile, forty kilometers away, Abigail, Charlotte, and I were sitting near our departure gate.
Charlotte had convinced my mother to buy her an enormous cinnamon roll before saying goodbye.
Half of it was now on her sweater.
Abigail sat beside me staring through the terminal windows at the airplanes.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think Dad will miss us?”
The question caught me off guard.
“I think he will.”
“When?”
I looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
She shrugged.
“He doesn’t miss us now.”
I chose my words carefully.
“Sometimes people don’t understand what something means to them until it isn’t around anymore.”
Abigail looked toward the runway.
“That seems stupid.”
I almost laughed.
“It can be.”
“Are we coming back?”
“To visit Grandma, absolutely.”
“I mean to live.”
I looked at both my daughters.
Toronto represented uncertainty.
A new apartment.
A new school.
A career I hadn’t practiced full-time in years.
Starting over at forty-one.
There were moments when fear whispered that perhaps staying would have been easier.
But easier and healthier are not always the same thing.
“I don’t know what the future looks like,” I said. “But I know we’re going to build something good.”
Abigail nodded.
Then she surprised me.
“Can we change our last names?”
I stared at her.
“What?”
She turned toward me.
“I don’t want Reynolds anymore.”
My chest tightened.
“You don’t have to decide anything like that today.”
“But you’re Vance now.”
“Yes.”
“Can I be Vance?”
I took her hand.
“Your name doesn’t change how much I love you.”
“I know.”
“Your dad is still your dad.”
She became quiet.
Then she whispered, “He doesn’t act like it.”
That one hurt.
Before I could answer, the gate agent announced boarding would begin in twenty minutes.
My mother hugged both girls again.
Then she took me aside.
“Are you sure?”
I knew what she meant.
Not about Toronto.
About everything.
Leaving.
Starting over.
Walking away from a wealthy family whose name had controlled my life for twelve years.
I nodded.
“I’ve never been more sure.”
My mother’s eyes filled.
“Then go.”
She squeezed my hands.
“And don’t look backward unless you’re checking how far you’ve come.”
I smiled through sudden tears.
That was when my phone buzzed again.
Samantha.
This time, it wasn’t a call.
It was a message.
I almost ignored it.
Then another came.
PENELOPE, SOMETHING TERRIBLE HAS HAPPENED.
I stared at the screen.
A second message appeared.
PLEASE CALL ME. THIS IS ABOUT VICTOR.
Then a third.
AND MY FATHER.
I frowned.
My mother noticed.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
I opened the messages.
Samantha had never contacted me directly unless it involved the girls or some family obligation.
Even during the divorce, she had firmly chosen Victor’s side.
For her to write “please” was unusual.
I didn’t call.
Instead, I typed:
Are the girls involved?
Her reply came immediately.
NO.
Then it could wait.
I put my phone away.
Back at Naomi’s apartment, Victor was demanding the one thing nobody wanted to discuss.
His mother.
“Miriam knows?” Samantha asked.
Walter shook his head.
“No.”
Victor stared at him.
“You’re going to tell her.”
Walter’s face changed.
“We need to think about how this is handled.”
Victor almost lunged at him.
Samantha stepped between them.
“Victor!”
“How this is handled?”
Victor pointed toward Naomi’s stomach.
“My girlfriend is carrying my father’s child and you’re worried about handling it?”
Walter’s voice rose.
“Because destroying the entire family in one afternoon won’t help anyone!”
Victor gave him a stunned look.
“You already destroyed it.”
Walter flinched.
It was perhaps the first time anyone had spoken to Walter Reynolds that way in decades.
He controlled boardrooms.
Employees.
Contracts.
Family gatherings.
Even his children still became quieter when he entered a room.
But power has limits.
And one of them is a DNA test.
Naomi sat down.
“What happens now?”
Victor turned toward her.
“You’re asking me?”
“I mean with the baby.”
Walter immediately answered.
“The baby will be provided for.”
Victor’s head snapped toward him.
There it was.
The sentence that revealed everything.
Not “if the test is accurate.”
Not “we’ll repeat it.”
Not “I need time.”
The baby will be provided for.
Victor stared at his father.
“You believe it.”
Walter didn’t respond.
“You knew there was a possibility.”
“Yes.”
Naomi looked stunned.
“You told me you were sure it couldn’t be yours.”
Walter rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“I said it was unlikely.”
“You told me you’d had a procedure.”
Samantha looked up.
“What procedure?”
Walter shot Naomi a warning glance.
Too late.
Victor heard it.
“What procedure?”
Naomi hesitated.
Walter didn’t answer.
Victor stepped toward his father.
“What is she talking about?”
Walter finally sighed.
“A vasectomy.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
Victor blinked.
“How many years?”
Walter looked directly at him.
“Thirty-seven.”
Nobody spoke.
Victor stared at him.
Samantha stood slowly.
Thirty-seven years.
Victor was thirty-eight.
Samantha was forty-two.
The calculation wasn’t complicated.
But the implication was.
Victor’s voice became almost inaudible.
“Thirty-seven years ago?”
Walter nodded once.
“After Samantha was born.”
Victor looked from his father to his sister.
Then back again.
“You had a vasectomy after Samantha?”
Walter’s face had gone gray.
“Yes.”
“But I was born four years later.”
Naomi stopped crying.
Samantha’s mouth fell open.
And suddenly, the baby inside Naomi wasn’t the biggest paternity problem in the room.
Victor whispered, “How?”
Walter said nothing.
“Dad.”
Nothing.
“HOW?”
Walter finally turned toward the window.
“The procedure failed.”
Victor stared at him.
“You’re lying.”
“It happens.”
“Then why do you look terrified?”
Walter turned around.
“I am dealing with a lot right now.”
“No.”
Victor moved closer.
“You’re scared because I’m asking the wrong question.”
Samantha stepped between them again.
“Victor, don’t.”
He ignored her.
“Did you ever have a paternity test done on me?”
Walter didn’t answer.
Victor’s eyes widened.
“You did.”
“Victor—”
“You did!”
Walter’s silence became confession.
Samantha whispered, “Dad?”
Walter sat down heavily in the chair near the window.
For the first time, he looked old.
Not powerful.
Not intimidating.
Old.
Victor’s hands began shaking.
“What did it say?”
Walter stared at him for a long time.
Then he whispered something that rewrote nearly four decades of Victor’s life.
“You’re not my biological son.”
Victor stood completely still.
Naomi covered her mouth.
Samantha began crying.
Victor looked like he had forgotten how to breathe.
Finally, he managed one question.
“Who is my father?”
Walter shook his head.
“That isn’t my story to tell.”
Victor laughed bitterly.
“You slept with my girlfriend, got her pregnant, and NOW you’ve discovered boundaries?”
“Your mother needs to tell you.”
“Where is she?”
Walter’s eyes dropped.
“At home.”
Victor grabbed his keys.
Samantha followed.
“Victor, don’t go there like this.”
“Get out of my way.”
“Think first.”
“I’ve spent my whole life believing this man was my father.”
Walter stood.
“I raised you.”
Victor spun around.
“And apparently that didn’t stop you from sleeping with the woman carrying the child I thought was mine!”
Walter recoiled.
Victor walked out.
Samantha followed him.
Ten minutes later, they were speeding toward the Reynolds estate.
Neither of them knew that Miriam had already received a phone call.
Walter had called her while Victor was arguing with Naomi.
He hadn’t told her everything.
He only said:
“Victor knows about the test.”
Miriam had gone silent.
Then she asked one question.
“Which test?”
Walter hadn’t understood.
He thought she meant Naomi’s paternity result.
But Miriam wasn’t talking about Naomi.
And when Victor burst through his parents’ front door twenty-five minutes later, he found his mother sitting alone in the living room.
A small wooden box rested on the coffee table.
She looked as though she had aged ten years since breakfast.
Victor stopped in front of her.
“Mom.”
Miriam looked at Samantha.
Then her son.
“You know.”
Victor’s voice shook.
“Dad says he isn’t my biological father.”
Miriam closed her eyes.
“That’s true.”
Victor sat down across from her.
“Who is?”
Miriam looked toward the wooden box.
Then at him.
“Before I tell you, you need to understand something.”
“No.”
Victor shook his head.
“No stories. No excuses. Just give me his name.”
Tears filled Miriam’s eyes.
“I loved Walter.”
Victor slammed his palm against the coffee table.
“WHO IS MY FATHER?”
Miriam flinched.
Samantha grabbed his arm.
“Victor!”
Their mother began crying.
“It happened once.”
Victor froze.
“With who?”
Miriam’s fingers trembled as she opened the wooden box.
Inside were letters.
Dozens of them.
Old envelopes tied together with a faded blue ribbon.
She removed one photograph.
Victor took it.
The picture showed Miriam at perhaps twenty-eight years old standing beside a tall dark-haired man outside Reynolds Engineering.
Victor stared at him.
Something about the man’s face felt disturbingly familiar.
The eyes.
The chin.
Even the shape of his smile.
Victor turned the photograph over.
A name was written on the back.
Thomas Vance.
Victor’s breath stopped.
Vance.
My last name.
Penelope Vance.
Samantha saw it too.
She whispered, “No.”
Victor stared at their mother.
“Who is Thomas Vance?”
Miriam started crying harder.
“He was an engineer your grandfather hired in 1987.”
Victor’s hands tightened around the photograph.
“And?”
Miriam looked directly into his eyes.
“He was your biological father.”
Victor shook his head.
“No.”
“Victor—”
“No.”
“It’s true.”
“Vance is Penelope’s family name.”
“Yes.”
“What are you saying?”
Miriam couldn’t answer.
Victor grabbed his phone.
His hands were shaking so badly that he almost dropped it.
He searched my name.
Then he stopped.
Because he suddenly remembered something I had told him on our third date, nearly thirteen years earlier.
My father had died when I was eleven.
His name had been Thomas.
Thomas Vance.
Victor stood up so quickly the coffee table shifted.
Samantha whispered, “Victor…”
He stared at her.
Then at Miriam.
Then at the photograph.
“No.”
Miriam covered her face.
“Mom.”
Victor’s voice cracked.
“Tell me that’s not Penelope’s father.”
Miriam sobbed.
And that was all the answer he needed.
At the airport, our boarding group was called.
Charlotte jumped excitedly.
“That’s us!”
Abigail pulled her suitcase upright.
I hugged my mother one final time.
My phone buzzed.
Victor.
Again.
I declined it.
He called immediately.
I declined it again.
Then a message appeared.
PENELOPE, DO NOT BOARD THAT PLANE.
Another.
PLEASE.
Then:
I NEED TO ASK YOU ABOUT YOUR FATHER.
My entire body went still.
My mother noticed my expression.
“What?”
I showed her.
The blood drained from her face.
I noticed immediately.
“Mom?”
She looked away.
“Why is Victor asking about Dad?”
My mother said nothing.
“Mom.”
The boarding line moved forward.
Charlotte tugged gently on my coat.
“Are we going?”
“In a minute.”
I looked back at my mother.
She suddenly seemed terrified.
“What does Victor know?”
Her eyes filled.
And in that instant, I understood something that frightened me far more than Victor’s messages.
My mother knew exactly why he was asking.
“Mom,” I whispered. “What aren’t you telling me?”
She reached for my hands.
“Penelope, this is not the place.”
My heart started pounding.
“What happened between Dad and the Reynolds family?”
“Please get on your plane.”
“Answer me.”
“Penelope.”
“ANSWER ME.”
People nearby turned toward us.
My mother lowered her voice.
“Your father worked for Walter Reynolds a long time ago.”
“I know he was an engineer.”
“There are things about that job he never told you.”
“What things?”
She looked at my daughters.
Then back at me.
“The kind that can destroy families.”
My phone rang again.
This time, I answered.
Victor didn’t say hello.
“Was your father’s name Thomas Vance?”
My throat tightened.
“You know it was.”
He inhaled sharply.
“What year did he die?”
“Why are you asking me this?”
“What year?”
“1996.”
Silence.
Then I heard Victor whisper something.
“Oh my God.”
“Victor, what is happening?”
His next words came slowly.
“My mother says Thomas Vance was my biological father.”
Everything around me disappeared.
The announcements.
The rolling suitcases.
Charlotte’s voice.
The people boarding.
All of it.
“What?”
“My father had a vasectomy before I was conceived. My mother admitted she had an affair with Thomas.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“That isn’t possible.”
“She has letters.”
My knees weakened.
My mother grabbed my arm.
Victor continued.
“There are photographs too.”
I looked at my mother.
She was already crying.
“Mom.”
She shook her head.
“I’m sorry.”
My voice broke.
“You knew?”
She whispered, “Not all of it.”
Victor heard her.
“Is Eleanor there?”
“Yes.”
“Put her on.”
“No.”
“Penelope, if Thomas Vance was your father—”
“Stop.”
I knew what he was about to say.
And I refused to hear it.
Because if Thomas Vance was my father…
And Thomas Vance was Victor’s biological father…
Then Victor and I had spent twelve years married without knowing the truth.
My daughters weren’t merely daughters of a broken marriage.
Their family tree had just become something neither of us could understand.
Victor’s voice cracked through the phone.
“Penelope…”
I closed my eyes.
Then he asked the question that made my entire body turn cold.
“Are you my sister?”………….
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 4…
