Chapter 7 - The Mother Who Had Two DaughtersGenevieve read the DNA report without speaking.
Once.
Twice.
Then a third time.
Her hands trembled so badly that the pages rattled.
Sofia stood across from her.
Neither woman knew what to say.
For weeks, Genevieve had believed Sofia was the daughter Henri had fathered with Camille.
Now the truth was far more complicated.
Sofia was her biological daughter.
But not Henri's.
Alexandre looked toward Thomas.
“How is that possible?”
Thomas remained calm.
“The results establish a strong biological relationship between Genevieve and Sofia. They do not, by themselves, explain the circumstances.”
Genevieve slowly lowered the papers.
“I don't understand.”
Sofia's voice was barely audible.
“Who is my father?”
Genevieve closed her eyes.
A memory surfaced.
A hospital room.
A doctor.
A conversation she had spent nearly three decades trying to forget.
She opened her eyes.
“Before Elise was born, Henri and I had difficulties.”
Alexandre frowned.
“What kind of difficulties?”
Genevieve looked ashamed.
“Our marriage was falling apart.”
Sofia stared at her.
Genevieve continued.
“Henri was working constantly. We barely spoke. I was lonely, angry, and convinced he no longer loved me.”
Alexandre looked uncomfortable.
“Mom—”
“I had an affair.”
Silence.
Sofia felt the floor shift beneath her.
Genevieve looked at her.
“It lasted only a few months.”
“Who was he?” Sofia asked.
Genevieve hesitated.
“A physician.”
Thomas leaned forward.
“His name?”
Genevieve swallowed.
“Dr. Lucien Moreau.”
Alexandre stared.
“The doctor who delivered Elise?”
Genevieve nodded.
Sofia stepped backward.
Genevieve began crying.
“I didn't know which man was the father when I became pregnant.”
Alexandre looked sick.
“Did Dad know?”
“Yes.”
The answer surprised everyone.
Genevieve wiped her cheeks.
“He knew before the birth. He was devastated, but he told me that whatever happened, he would love the baby.”
Sofia's voice trembled.
“Then why did he tell us I was his daughter?”
Genevieve shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Thomas examined the hospital records again.
“Perhaps Henri believed the babies had been switched.”
Alexandre frowned.
“What do you mean?”
Thomas pointed toward the two nursery identification numbers.
“If Genevieve gave birth to Sofia, and Camille gave birth to Elise, someone may have deliberately altered the records.”
Genevieve stared.
“No.”
Sofia looked at her.
“What?”
Genevieve whispered, “Camille was pregnant with Henri's child.”
Alexandre froze.
“What?”
Genevieve nodded.
“She told me herself.”
Sofia felt her chest tighten.
“So Henri had a child with Camille.”
“Yes.”
“And you had a child with Lucien Moreau.”
Genevieve nodded again.
Thomas slowly leaned back.
“Then two babies may have been exchanged.”
Alexandre looked from one woman to the other.
“Why?”
Thomas's expression darkened.
“Because someone wanted to hide the truth about both affairs.”
Genevieve covered her face.
Sofia sat down.
For years, she had believed Camille was her biological mother.
Now she was learning that the woman who raised her may have received another woman's baby.
And the woman who had rejected her at the mansion might actually be the mother who gave birth to her.
But the most painful realization was something else.
Camille had known.
Perhaps not everything.
But enough to search.
Enough to protect Sofia.
Enough to keep loving her despite the uncertainty.
Genevieve looked toward Sofia.
“I don't expect you to call me your mother.”
Sofia said nothing.
“I don't expect you to forgive me.”
Still silence.
“But I want you to know that if I had understood—”
Sofia interrupted.
“You knew my mother was struggling.”
Genevieve lowered her eyes.
“Yes.”
“You knew she was raising me alone.”
“Yes.”
“You knew she had lost her home.”
Genevieve nodded.
“And you did nothing.”
The words struck harder than any accusation.
Genevieve began crying.
“I was ashamed.”
Sofia stood.
“My mother was ashamed, too.”
Genevieve looked up.
“But she still got up every morning and took care of me.”
Sofia's voice broke.
“She worked when she was sick. She skipped meals so I could eat. She wore the same coat for ten years because she wanted me to have a winter jacket.”
Genevieve covered her mouth.
Sofia wiped her eyes.
“You had money. You had a beautiful house. You had people who loved you.”
She paused.
“My mother had me.”
Genevieve whispered, “I'm sorry.”
Sofia shook her head.
“Sorry doesn't give her those years back.”
She walked toward the door.
Alexandre followed.
But Sofia stopped.
“I need some time.”
He nodded.
“Of course.”
That evening, Genevieve sat alone in Henri's study.
She opened an old photograph album.
There was a picture of herself pregnant.
Henri stood behind her, his hands resting gently on her shoulders.
They were smiling.
She remembered the day.
He had told her, “Whatever happens, we're going to love this child.”
She had believed him.
And perhaps he had meant it.
But somewhere between that photograph and the hospital room, everything had gone wrong.
Genevieve turned another page.
A photograph slipped from the album.
It showed Henri standing beside Dr. Lucien Moreau.
On the back was a handwritten date.
September 4, 1997.
The day after the babies were born.
Beneath it, Henri had written:
Lucien knows. Victor arranged everything.
Genevieve stared at the words.
Then she noticed something else.
A telephone number.
She dialed it.
A man answered after several rings.
“Hello?”
Genevieve's voice trembled.
“Lucien?”
Silence.
Then a familiar voice whispered, “Genevieve?”
She closed her eyes.
“Tell me what happened to our daughter.”
The man breathed heavily.
Then he said something that made her blood run cold.
“Genevieve, you need to understand. There weren't two babies in that hospital.”
May you like
A pause.
“There were three.”
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