Chapter 6 - SABINE
Sabine came to my house with Margot.
She held a bakery box.
Maelis hid behind me.
I crouched.
“You don’t have to visit.”
“I want Sabine.”
Good.
Children distinguish people better than adults.
Sabine opened the box.
Six cupcakes.
She pushed the whole thing toward Maelis.
“All yours.”
Maelis shook her head.
“We share.”
I nearly lost it.
They split one immediately.
Chocolate.
Too much frosting.
Ordinary.
Margot watched.
“I need to tell you something.”
Not in front of children.
We moved to the kitchen.
She said Odette had been telling Sabine:
Lake House will be yours someday.
Your grandfather made sure.
Sabine believed it.
Not greedily.
Like a child believes Grandma when Grandma describes the future.
Now Margot feared probate would make Sabine feel something had been taken.
I stared.
“Then tell her nothing was taken.”
Margot nodded.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She looked down.
There.
Her branch had benefited from Odette’s narrative.
Not illegally necessarily.
Emotionally.
Money distorts even decent people.
Then she admitted:
“I knew about the old DNA report before Dad died.”
“I know.”
“I also knew he didn’t trust it.”
That was new.
“What did he say?”
“He told Mom the report was garbage until authenticated.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought Elise had told you.”
“After Elise died?”
Margot cried.
“I thought bringing it up would only hurt you.”
Family disease.
Silence called protection.
Then:
“Dad asked me to promise I wouldn’t let Mom use it against Maelis.”
My anger sharpened.
“And you let her file it.”
“I didn’t know until after.”
“Then why didn’t you object immediately?”
She whispered:
“Because for one terrible week I thought if it was real, Sabine’s future became much easier.”
There.
The honest answer.
I respected it more than tears.
“Did you act on that?”
“No. I called counsel.”
Good.
Margot had flaws.
Not villain.
Then the forensic document examiner reported:
The old DNA file had been assembled digitally.
Logo from MidAtlantic.
Signature image from an unrelated public court exhibit.
Accreditation number from another lab.
Text box layers inconsistent.
Conclusion:
Not an authentic MidAtlantic report.
Who created it?
Metadata stripped.
No direct author.
The case moved from disputed paternity to potential fraud.
Odette claimed she had been deceived too.
Possible.
We needed more.
Then Dr. Weiss found a clue.
The fake report’s allele table was not random.
It appeared copied from a real paternity report published in a training document.
Someone had changed names but not the genetic markers.
That meant whoever made it did not need biological samples at all.
The supposed test had never happened.
My mother had spent four years threatening us with DNA created from a template.
Still:
Did she create it?
Or receive it?
That answer waited.
The new court test arrived the next morning.
Naomi called.
“Cedric.”
I stopped breathing.
“Do not tell me over the phone.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
I wanted to read it myself.
Not because the result would decide whether Maelis was my daughter.
May you like
Because too many other people had already turned that question into a weapon.
I wanted one moment where the truth belonged to us before it belonged to court.
