— “I don’t know, Mike,” Andrew admitted. — “I need some advice. Come over.”
An hour later, Mike was in the study, listening to the impossible story. They’d been friends for twenty years. Mike was the only one Andrew trusted completely.
— “Wait,” Mike rubbed his face. — “You’re telling me a woman at the cemetery was waiting for you?”
— “Seems that way.”
— “And who was she?”
— “A relative of Zelda’s, I assume.” — Andrew shrugged.
He’d wondered about that too. Who was the woman at the gate? How did she know the funeral date? Zelda hadn’t said, and he’d been too stunned to ask.
— “It doesn’t matter,” Andrew said. — “What matters is what I do now. What do I do, Mike?”
Mike looked out the window for a long time. Then he turned back.
— “Look, Andrew. I get it, it’s a shock. But are you sure this isn’t a setup? Are you sure she’s yours?”
— “I saw the photos. She’s my twin. There’s no doubt.”
— “Looks can be a coincidence. Get a DNA test,” Mike advised gently. — “Before you go crashing into her life, be 100% sure. Otherwise, you’re going to cause damage you can’t fix.”
The logic was sound. He needed facts. But as soon as Mike left, Andrew looked at the paper again. St. Jude’s Pediatric Clinic. 4th and Main. He couldn’t wait any longer.
To hell with the tests. He had to see her. Just once.
The clinic was in a modest building downtown. Andrew arrived in the afternoon, parked around the corner, and sat in the car for twenty minutes. What was he going to say? “Hi, I’m your dad”? Ridiculous. She’d think he was a stalker. He decided just to watch. From a distance.
Inside, the clinic was typical: bright colors, the smell of antiseptic, the sound of kids. Andrew walked past the front desk, pretending to look for a specific office. His heart was in his throat.
He found her in a treatment room on the second floor. The door was cracked open. Taylor was leaning over a small boy, whispering something to him. The kid was crying, terrified of a needle. Taylor stroked his hair, smiled, and the boy slowly calmed down.
Andrew watched her, unable to look away. The photos didn’t do her justice. She was real. Blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, gray eyes—exactly like Annie’s. And that stubborn chin of his.
— “Can I help you with something?”
Andrew jumped. A stern-looking woman in a white coat was standing behind him.
— “I… uh…” He fumbled for an excuse. — “I was looking for a doctor. For my nephew.”
— “Check-in is downstairs,” she said shortly. — “We don’t allow people to wander the halls.”
He nodded and hurried toward the exit. But he’d done it. He’d seen her, and he knew—he didn’t need a test. He felt the connection in his bones.
He walked out to the sidewalk and lit a cigarette. He’d quit five years ago when Olivia got sick, but his hands were shaking too much to care.
— “Got an extra one?”
