Chapter 72 Annabelle
Annabelle
Chase put a hand on her arm, but she swatted it away. “I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing. My son died the night he was born!”
“Annabelle, please listen. My son, Lucas. I found out he’s not mine. I think our babies were switched at birth.”
Her knees felt weak, and dizziness overcame her. Chase closed the distance between them and caught her before she fell. “How is that possible?”
“Come with me. I need to show you.”
Still numb, Annabelle got into Chase’s car, and he drove out of the parking lot.
Her mind exploded with memories from that night.
Holding her son right after delivering him, feeling his heartbeat next to hers.
And then the cold reality the next day brought.
James telling her he had died. Could it be true? Her son, alive? “Where are we going?”
“My house. I have all the proof there.”
“What proof?”
“My son, Lucas, gave blood at a blood drive over the summer. A few weeks later, he mentioned that his blood was type A.”
“What does this have to do—”
“Hear me out. My wife and I are both O. I thought she had cheated on me. I told you…our marriage was not great. So I tested him with 23andMe, but I put it under a fake name. I elected to be contacted if there were any blood relatives and gave a Gmail account under the fake name. It came back with a maternal match to a sibling. I realized that Tara couldn’t be his mother. That’s when Scarlett emailed me.”
“How? Scarlett didn’t do the DNA test. James didn’t let her.”
“Well, she must have taken it anyway. The results show that she’s a maternal sibling match to Lucas. I emailed her back pretending to be him and told her that I needed to talk to my parents before going any further. I was trying to buy some time to figure things out.”
“I don’t understand. How could Scarlett be your son’s sister? That makes no sense.”
“The baby that you lost. His birthday was September third. Right?”
A chill ran through her. “How did you know?”
“That’s the same day my wife delivered. You were both at the hospital the same night. I can show you the report.”
“Why didn’t you just bring it—” Her phone rang and she glanced at the screen. It was the detective.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Reynolds. We’re at the house where the Instagram account originated. We’ve located the phone that was texting your daughter. It belongs to a man named Chase Sommers.”
She had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. She saw Chase glance over at her from the corner of her eye. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, quite sure. Not only that, but we found your daughter’s backpack in the house as well.”
Annabelle’s pulse raced. “So that means—”
“It appears as though Chase Sommers is the one who hit your daughter.”