Chapter 6

• The orphanage.
• Mom and Dad froze.
• She whipped around and met Dad’s tear-filled eyes. Shock and fear flickered between them.
• That was where I was adopted.
• Dad struggled up from the floor, staggered over to the door, and rasped, “What documents?”
• “I don’t know,” the delivery guy said. “It’s marked urgent, and it says for Mr. Richard Black or Mrs. Victoria Black only.”
• He handed over a manila envelope.
• Dad took it, his fingers shaking as he tore it open.
• A stack of files and a single sheet of paper slid out.
• The paper had a few lines in bold, blocky print.
• “Mr. Richard Black. Ms. Victoria Black,” the letter began.
• “This isn regards to the baby girl you brought to our orphanage fifteen years ago, later assigned the number 734.”
• They held their breath before reading on. “After extensive verification, her biological parents have now been confirmed.”
• “This letter contains that particular sensitive information,” the text said. “Original documents are attached. Please review them carefully.”
• Mom leaned in.
• When she saw what it said, her eyes went wide, and she took a step back.
• Her gaze slid past the notice and locked on the documents underneath.
• Dad flipped through the files, one by one.
• There was the intake record, a medical exam, and a grainy still from a security camera: a woman holding a baby.
• The image was blurry, but Dad recognized that woman’s build and her quilted puffy jacket at a glance.
• It was Mom fifteen years ago, cradling the baby girl they were giving away.
• At the very end was a DNA comparison report.
• The conclusion laid out one simple fact.
• The baby girl registered as No. 734 at the orphanage, and the girl adopted in 2010 by Richard and Victoria Black—Ella Mills—were confirmed by DNA sequencing to be the same person.
• I was the child Victoria Black left.
• The same one she and Richard Black adopted years later.
• I was their biological daughter.
• The report slipped from Dad’s trembling hands and scattered across the floor.
• He lifted his head. His gaze slid past the mess on the floor, past his wife’s chalk-white face, and landed on me.
• He stared at my face. My eyes. My nose.
• Features he’d seen for more than ten years but never actually looked at.
• Not similar—identical.
• What the hell had he been doing all these years?
• He’d sent his own daughter onto the operating table, over and over.
• He’d let his wife abuse her, use her, even plan to carve out her heart to save their other daughter.
• He’d treated her like a spare part. A tool.
• “No!”
• Dad let out a raw, broken howl and slapped himself across the face.
• Smack!
• The sound echoed through the house.
• Then a second. A third. He went at himself left and right.
• “I’m not human! I’m a fucking animal!”
• Mom snapped out of her shock and fear, stumbling and scrambling toward me, trying to grab me in a hug.
• “Ella… my daughter… my Ella….”
• She was sobbing so hard that her face was a mess of tears and snot.
• “I didn’t know it was you….”
• Her hand brushed my arm.
• I jolted and shoved her away, hard.
• “Don’t touch me!”
• I screamed and backed up until my spine hit the wall. There was nowhere left to go.
• I stared at my ‘biological parents.’ One was hurting himself. One was repenting.
• Where was all this before?
• If not for that file and Grace’s note, they’d have split me open by now.
• They would’ve taken my heart to save the daughter they adored.
• Me, the one they ‘picked up’? Dead for good.
• Now the truth was out, and suddenly they were regretting it. Suddenly they loved me.
• What a joke.
• “I’m sorry… Ella… Give Mom a chance… let Mom make it up to you….”
• Mom dropped to her knees and tried to crawl over to grab my pant leg.
• “Make it up to me?”
• I smiled at her, but my tears still spilled over.
• “How?” I demanded.
• I took a deep breath. “Are you going to give me back my corneas? My bone marrow? My kidney?”
• My heart swelled with resentment. “Or are you gonna dig your heart out for me?”
• She froze, the color draining from her face.
• Yeah. How?
• The pieces they took from me. The pain I endured. The tears I cried in the dark… How would they pay that back?
• “See? You can’t.”
• I wiped my tears away. My voice was steady.
• “Stop talking about making it up to me.”
• Slowly, I shook my head. “Between us, ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t cut it.”
• I braced a hand on the wall, turned away, and walked toward the front door.
• Sunlight hit my skin. But it couldn’t chase the cold out of my bones.
• Behind me, Dad’s broken cry rose up.
• “Ella! Where are you going? Please… don’t go!”
• I didn’t look back.
• I didn’t want to stay in this place another second.