My Mother Married Me Off for $1.5 Million—But on My Wedding Night, I Discovered the Truth About Who I Really Was

I read the two sentences again.

Then a third time.

My hands were shaking so badly that the paper rattled between my fingers.

Ernest, she is alive.

But if you want to see her again, you must bring Valerie.

I looked at Ernest.

“Who wrote this?”

“I don’t know.”

“You said you received it three weeks ago.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t know whether it was true.”

I looked at him in disbelief.

“You married me because someone told you my biological mother might be alive?”

“No.”

“Then what was the reason?”

He took a breath.

“I needed to bring you here without frightening you.”

I stared at him.

“You could have told me the truth.”

“I could have.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because every person who has tried to uncover what happened to Evelyn has ended up regretting it.”

A chill moved down my spine.

“What does that mean?”

Ernest walked toward a large wooden desk.

He opened another drawer and removed a stack of envelopes.

He placed them in front of me.

“They began arriving eighteen years ago.”

I picked up the first.

There was no return address.

Inside was a newspaper clipping.

A headline had been circled in red.

LOCAL WOMAN DISAPPEARS WITHOUT A TRACE.

The woman was Evelyn Sullivan.

My biological mother.

I picked up another.

Then another.

Threats.

Warnings.

Anonymous letters.

Photographs of Ernest leaving his office.

Photographs of Margaret.

Photographs of me as a child.

My stomach twisted.

“Someone was watching us.”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re telling me someone has been following my family for twenty years and you still don’t know who?”

Ernest’s face hardened.

“I spent twenty years trying to find out.”

He pulled out one final photograph.

It was taken when I was perhaps five years old.

I was standing in front of our house holding a red balloon.

Behind me, half hidden by a tree, stood a man.

I couldn’t see his face.

But I could see his coat.

Dark gray.

And on his left hand was a silver ring.

I stared at it.

“Who is that?”

“I don’t know.”

I looked closer.

The ring had a strange symbol engraved into it.

A small black bird.

Then I remembered something.

My mother had once told me never to open the locked drawer in her bedroom.

She said my father’s old things were inside.

But there was something else.

A silver ring.

A black bird.

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