Part 2: My son h.i.t me 30 times in front of his wife… so the next morning, while he sat in his office, I sold the house he thought was his.

"I'm sorry."

I closed my eyes.

Then he whispered:

"Malcolm told me Eleanor is my biological mother."

My heart stopped.

"No."

Trevor continued.

"And he says Henry knew."

I gripped the table.

For forty-four years, I'd believed Trevor was my son.

I'd carried him through pregnancy.

I'd endured a difficult delivery.

I'd held him in the hospital.

I'd watched him grow.

How could anyone claim Eleanor had given birth to him?

Then I remembered something.

The delivery.

The emergency surgery.

The nurses telling me I had lost consciousness.

Henry appearing beside my bed with our newborn son.

The way he'd refused to discuss what happened during the operation.

A cold feeling spread through me.

"Trevor, where did Malcolm get that information?"

Trevor was silent.

Then he whispered:

"He showed me the original hospital records."

I could barely breathe.

"And?"

My son's voice broke.

"Mother, there were two babies born that night."