The Doctor's Secret Bride(110)

An open-mouthed Bridget was at a loss for words. She would have had to swallow them, anyway, because at that moment an excited Precious and an intensely serene Jessica returned, each carrying a shopping bag.

“Look, Michelle. I got a Snow White doll that dances.” Precious held up the doll.

“Beautiful. Happy birthday, darling.” Michelle pinched her cute nose, happy to see joy sparkled in her eyes again.

“Let me pay you for it.” Bridget opened her Gucci handbag and extracted a matching wallet.

“I don’t need your money,” Michelle said with a slight smile of defiance. She turned an affectionate smile on Precious. “Every time you play with it, you think of me, for I’ll be thinking of you.”

“I love you, Michelle.”

“I love you, too, baby. Always. You take care of yourself, and your daddy. Okay?”

She nodded as tears glistened in her eyes.

Michelle gathered her to her bosom one last time then quickly released her and turned away blindly. Her heart hurt so much, she thought she would buckle under the pain.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO



The next day was Sunday. The sun came up high and bright against a clear blue sky, and as Michelle sat at the kitchen table in Yasmine’s apartment, drinking a cup of warm Ovaltine and listening to the frigid February wind whistling sharply outside, she tried to analyze her feelings.#p#分页标题#e#

She’d gotten the call last night.

The man formerly known as her father was found dead in his cell. Apparently, he’d been suffering from cirrhosis, and last night his liver finally shut down on him. Well, he was a drunk, had been all her life, and even before that according to Robert and people who knew him back in Virginia.

Michelle was surprised he’d lasted that long, but grateful, nonetheless. If he’d died any sooner, she and Robert might never have found out that he wasn’t their father, but a homeless impostor by the name of Timmy Gleason who’d killed and stolen their real father’s identity.

While she’d been hiding out in South Carolina, Robert had found a note in the box of their mother’s stuff stored in his home. The note was from a woman in Virginia addressed to Dwight Carter at the apartment on Pine Street where they used to live, but on the inside she’d called him Timmy. It was postmarked twenty-six years ago, shortly after her mother arrived in Manchester, and months before Michelle was born. The note merely stated that the man he’d stabbed had died and he shouldn’t come back to Virginia.

Robert had straightway hired a private investigator to track the woman down, only to find that she’d been dead for years. After further digging, they’d discovered that Timmy Gleason had also been dead for twenty-six years. From there on, it was easy to solve the rest of the puzzle. Timmy Gleason had stabbed their father, for what reason, they’ll never know. He’d stolen his identity, kidnapped her pregnant mother and Robert, and fled to New Hampshire. Michelle was sure he’d threatened to hurt her babies if she ever talked. It was the only way to keep her quiet.

Michelle couldn’t even fathom the blanket of fear her mother must have lived under day after day and night after night. Her husband was dead—or did she even know that? And his killer was threatening the lives of her children. Her mother had to keep Timmy Gleason’s secret to protect her and Robert. Michelle knew she would have done the same if she’d been in a similar situation. Yesterday, she’d felt she could strangle Bridget for even suggesting that she and Erik could take her child away from her.

She had no feelings about Timmy Gleason’s death, but she was overwhelmed with questions, curiosity, and love for the father she would never know. Since Dwight Carter grew up in foster care, tracing their family line had become much more difficult than she and Robert initially anticipated. They weren’t giving up, but she had to face the fact that Dwight Carter might forever remain a mystery to her. One more thing Timmy Gleason had robbed her of.

Michelle pushed herself out of the chair. She needed to get out of the house.

She walked the short distance to Yasmine’s bedroom and knocked on the door. Yasmine grumbled something unintelligible. Michelle opened the door and walked over to the side of the bed. The shades were drawn, making it impossible for her to see much of anything. Michelle knew Yasmine was bone-tired from working overtime all week, and she felt terrible disturbing her sleep. But she was in need of some spiritual comfort for the turmoil in her soul.

“Yasmine?” she said to the long lump completely submerged from head to toe under the blankets.

“Hmm?”