Page 136 of The Wrong Brother

“There’s something you deserve to know.”

Kate’s smile fades. The kitchen suddenly feels quieter despite the dishwasher running and Almay, one of the maids, doing laundry a few rooms down.

Kate sets her fork aside. “What is it?”

I rest my forearms on the island, hating how worried and scared she sounds.

“You already know I’m your real uncle.”

She nods. “I know.”

“You also know that your father wasn’t part of your life.”

Another nod. This one slower.

“I’ve always thought he was dead,” she admits quietly. “Is that…?”

The words sting, the very thought that all this time she’s been grieving or questioning or unsure. I swallow.

“No. He’s alive.”

Silence, except for the loud ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room. Kate searches my face, then asks quietly: “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know him?”

“I do.”

Her breathing changes. Just slightly. I pray with everything in me that it isn’t hope I’m seeing in the way she perks up, her eyes unblinking, the pancakes forgotten.

“What about my mom?”

I force myself to meet her eyes. “She’s alive too.”

“I don’t understand.”

I had hoped she wouldn’t ask that immediately. Unfortunately, she’s always been bright.

“Your mother loved you.” I choose each word carefully. “She wanted to keep you.”

Kate’s eyes widen.

“Then...” Her voice trails off. “Why was I in foster care?”

The question tears straight through me. Because there is no answer that a child should ever have to hear.

I lean back slightly. “Your father made that decision. He had influence.” I hate the word even as I say it.

“He made sure you entered the foster system. He didn’t want your mom to have you.”

Kate stares down at her untouched pancakes. For several long moments she doesn’t move.

“I remember,” she says quietly after a moment.

I blink, not understanding. “Remember what?”

She can’t mean Shannon. She was barely more than a newborn when everything happened. She spent mere months with Andrei, or more likely his assistants, before going into the system.