Chapter 2 - The Note in the Lilies
The attendant’s sharp voice cut through the autumn chill, but Nathan raised a hand, silently signaling the man to step back. The attendant blinked, recognized Nathan Collins, and hastily retreated down the stone path without another word.
Nathan took a slow step forward. The two little girls turned around fully now. Up close, they couldn't have been more than six years old. They had identical button noses, fair skin, and striking blue eyes—eyes that felt mirror-exact to Nathan's own reflection every morning.
"Are you Uncle Nathan?" the older-looking twin asked again, her voice small, shivering slightly from the cold wind.
Nathan stopped in his tracks, his heart giving an unexpected thud. "I am Nathan," he said softly, kneeling down on the damp grass so he was at eye level with them. "Why do you call me Uncle? And who are you?"
"I'm Mia, and this is Lily," the girl said, pointing to her sister, who was clutching a bruised handful of yellow wildflowers against her pink sweater. "Mommy told us if we ever got lost or if she couldn't take care of us, we should find Grandpa William or Uncle Nathan. But... the man at the gate said Grandpa William lives under this stone now."
Lily, the quieter twin, looked down at the gold lettering on the black marble. "We brought flowers for him so he wouldn't be lonely," she whispered.
Nathan's mind raced. Sister? Brother? He had been an only child—or so he had been told his entire life. William Collins had never spoken of another child. Yet these girls carried a uncanny resemblance that no stranger could fake, and they knew his name.
"Where is your mommy right now, Mia?" Nathan asked gently, reaching out to adjust the zipper on Mia’s thin green jacket to block the wind.
Mia pulled a crumpled, folded piece of paper from her taped backpack. "Mommy is very sick in the hospital. She wrote this note for Grandpa. She told us to come here today because she knew Grandpa’s family always comes on this day."
Nathan took the note with gloved fingers. His hands shook slightly as he unfolded the lined notebook paper. The handwriting was faint, written with a failing pen, but the message was agonizingly clear:
Father,
I know you banished me fifteen years ago when I refused to live the life you planned. I know I am dead to the Collins name. But I am dying now, and my twin daughters, Mia and Lily, have no one else. Nathan doesn't know I exist, but he has your eyes and a good heart—I pray you left him with one. Please don't let them grow up alone in the system.
— Clara
Nathan felt as if the air had been kicked from his lungs. Clara. He remembered a distant memory from when he was twenty—a shadowy disagreement, a tearful departure, and his father declaring, "We do not speak of her again." He had assumed Clara was a cousin or a distant relative who had disgraced the family business. She was his sister.
"Where is she?" Nathan asked, his voice thick with suppressed emotion. "Which hospital?"
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"St. Jude's Mercy," Mia murmured, holding her sister's small hand tightly. "Can we go see her now? We gave Grandpa his flowers."
Nathan stood up, leaving his expensive white lilies beside their humble crushed wildflowers. He took each girl by the hand. "Yes," Nathan said, his firm resolve returning. "We are going right now."
