The same unusual notch I saw in my own face every morning. Claire opened her eyes.
When she saw me, all the color disappeared from her face. She immediately pulled both children closer.
I stepped forward. “Claire.” She stared at me as if a ghost had walked into the terminal.
“It can’t be…” “I’ve been saying the same thing for six years.” Her eyes filled with grief.
Then fear. She looked at the boys. Then back at me. “Adrian…” Her voice trembled.
“Your mother never told you, did she?” That question changed everything.
Because Claire had not abandoned me. She had been pregnant when I left the country.
And someone inside my own family had made certain I never learned the truth.
But even Claire did not yet know the worst part. A few hours later, I would discover a notarized legal document claiming I had voluntarily surrendered every parental right to our unborn children.
At the bottom was my name. Adrian Whitmore. And beneath it was a signature that looked almost exactly like mine.
Almost. The document was dated six years earlier. On a day when passport records proved I had been thousands of miles away.
Someone had forged my signature. Someone had erased my children from my life.
And when I finally learned who had arranged it, the biggest hotel deal of my career no longer mattered.
(I know you’re all very curious about the next part, so if you want to read more, please leave a “YES” comment below!)
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