Chapter 1 - TRASH FOR TRASH
Patricia forced Ethan’s fingers beneath the lid of the gift box.
“Open it properly,” she said. “Everyone is waiting.”
My son looked toward me.
The dining room had been decorated with green dinosaur balloons and paper footprints leading toward a chocolate cake. Six relatives stood nearby holding phones. Michael remained beside the fireplace, one hand in his pocket.
“It’s okay,” I told Ethan.
I believed the box contained a toy.
He lifted the lid.
The smell reached us first.
Rotten meat, coffee grounds, dirty paper towels, shrimp shells, and something wet and gray filled the box. Ethan recoiled so violently that the lid fell from his hands.
Patricia tipped the container.
Garbage spilled across the hardwood floor and onto his socks.
“Trash for trash,” she laughed. “How wonderfully fitting.”
Ethan stumbled backward and covered his nose.
“Mom… it smells bad!”
His voice cracked into sobs.
I kicked the box away and pulled him against me. A banana peel struck the leg of the birthday table. Brown liquid spread beneath the presents.
“What is wrong with you?”
Patricia adjusted the pearls at her throat.
Michael did not move.
“Mom,” he said weakly. “Enough.”
“Enough?” Patricia repeated. “You’ve allowed this woman to lie to you for five years.”
She removed a manila envelope from her purse and slammed it beside Ethan’s birthday cake.
“That boy doesn’t deserve to be my grandson.”
The room went silent.
Michael stared at the envelope.
I stared at him.
He knew she had something.
That realization hurt before I even understood what it was.
Patricia pulled out a laboratory report.
“Paternity excluded,” she announced. “Claire’s little miracle belongs to somebody else.”
Ethan buried his face against my blouse.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing you need to hear,” I whispered.
Robert Parker crossed the room.
He had been Michael’s godfather, the Reynolds family attorney, and the independent co-trustee of the estate for as long as I had known him.
“Give me that.”
Patricia smiled and handed him the report as though delivering a verdict.
Robert read the first page.
Then the second.
His expression changed.
He looked at Ethan.
Then Michael.
Then back at the report.
I saw Patricia notice.
Her smile tightened.
“What?” Michael asked.
Robert did not answer.
Something inside me broke.
I picked up the garbage-filled box and hurled it at Patricia.
The corner struck her cheek. Wet food splattered across her elegant outfit, pearls, and hair.
She screamed.
“Get out of my house, right now!”
Michael grabbed my wrist before I could step closer.
I pulled free.
“Do not touch me.”
Ethan cried harder.
Robert raised one trembling hand.
“This report doesn’t say what Patricia claims.”
Everyone stopped.
He pointed to the second page.
“The tested man is excluded as Ethan’s father.”
Patricia’s eyes sharpened.
“But the extended kinship analysis indicates a close second-degree relationship.”
Michael stared at him.
“What relationship?”
Robert looked from my husband to my son.
“The sample may belong to Ethan’s biological grandfather.”
Patricia reached for the report.
Robert moved it out of reach.
At the bottom of the second page was a clinic identification number.
May you like
Robert whispered:
“That number belongs to me.”
