Chapter 2 - The Funeral I Was Never Supposed to Attend
"Some irrational part of me still expected my father to walk through the door and explain everything away..."
But Martin Ellison wasn't coming. He was sitting in a federal holding cell, stripped of his badge, his gun, and the unassailable reputation he had cultivated for over two decades.
"Why did Aunt Rebecca wait until now?" I asked, my voice trembling as I gripped the edges of the cold conference room table.
Margaret Shaw sighed, opening another folder. "Because of your mother, Claire. Or rather, Elaine Ellison. Two weeks ago, Elaine passed away from her long battle with cancer. For years, Rebecca suspected something was wrong with your birth story, but Martin held total control over the family. He threatened to ruin Rebecca, to use his police connections to frame her husband if she ever spoke up. But on her deathbed, Elaine confessed everything to Rebecca. The guilt had eaten her alive."
"Elaine knew?" A fresh wave of betrayal washed over me. The woman who had combed my hair, cheered at my graduation, and loved me with fierce devotion was an accomplice to my kidnapping.
"She found out a year after Martin brought you home," Investigator Price explained. "By then, she was already deeply attached to you. Martin convinced her that if the truth came out, they would both go to prison, and you would be thrown into a broken foster care system. She stayed silent to protect the illusion of her perfect family. But with Elaine gone, Rebecca finally had the leverage—and the courage—to go to the FBI."
Margaret leaned forward, her eyes softening. "Rebecca wanted you out of the house, away from Martin, before the arrest happened. That's why she sent you to Florida. And that's why she told you to come here today. Because tomorrow morning, there is a private memorial service for Elaine. Martin was supposed to attend under guard, but his bail was denied. Rebecca wants you there. Not for Martin, and not even for Elaine—but because your biological extended family will be there too."
My breath hitched. "My... biological family?"
"Your maternal grandparents and an uncle have been searching for you for twenty-one years," Margaret said gently. "They never stopped believing you were out there. They are attending Elaine's memorial because they found out the truth just forty-eight hours ago. They want to see you, Natalie."
Hearing that name sent a shiver down my spine. Natalie. A ghost of a girl I was meant to be.
That night, the investigators checked me into a secure hotel. I didn't sleep. I paced the floor, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Who was I? The clothes I wore, the memories I cherished, the very name I answered to—all of it belonged to a fiction written by a criminal.
The next morning, dressed in a muted black dress provided by Margaret, I walked into the quiet chapel on the outskirts of Seattle. Aunt Rebecca was waiting near the entrance. When she saw me, tears streamed down her face. She rushed forward, pulling me into a desperate embrace.
"I am so sorry, Claire—Natalie—I am so sorry," she sobbed into my shoulder. "I should have spoken up sooner. I was so afraid of him."
"It's okay," I whispered, though nothing felt okay. "Where are they?"
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Rebecca wiped her eyes and pointed toward the front pew. Sitting there were an elderly couple holding hands, their shoulders slumped with age and grief, alongside a tall man in his late forties whose profile looked strikingly like my own.
As if sensing my presence, the older woman turned around. Her eyes locked onto mine. She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. In an instant, twenty-one years of stolen time seemed to collapse in the space between us.
