Her eyebrows knit together. “You sound serious.”
“I am.”
“When we found out I was something more than human, Ryder had someone look into our family tree, trying to find clues about what I… what we could be. He discovered that Mum and Dad used a fertility clinic,” I begin.
That catches her attention immediately. She sets her cup down, eyes widening. “And?”
“He’s had someone working on decrypting the files. Finally, a partial report came through.” My throat tightens. “Poppy… Mum didn’t conceive naturally. She had IVF.”
Her eyes widen further, confusion flickering across her face. “IVF? Are you sure?”
I nod. “Three rounds. Only two were successful.”
For a long moment, she just stares at me. I can almost hear the wheels turning in her mind-the denial, the disbelief, then the slow, inevitable acceptance.
“Two successful,” she repeats softly. “That would be us.”
“Yeah.” I swallow hard. “But there’s more. The report mentioned donor eggs.”
Poppy’s lips part, but no sound escapes. She leans back in her chair, eyes distant, as if trying to piece together a life that suddenly doesn’t fit the way it used to.
“So Mum wasn’t…” she trails off.
“Our biological mother,” I finish quietly. “Not completely, at least. But she was still our mum in every way that truly matters.”
Poppy shakes her head, a tear slipping free before she can stop it. “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t she tell us?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “Maybe she didn’t want us to feel different. Or maybe she didn’t know the whole truth herself. Ryder’s contact thinks something’s off about the clinic’s files-encryption layers that shouldn’t exist for a standard medical facility. Someone didn’t want this information getting out.”
Poppy leans forward again, her hands trembling slightly on the countertop. “So whoever donated those eggs…”
“Could be where the other half of us comes from,” I finish softly.
Her gaze locks with mine, and for a brief moment, it’s like we’re both seeing the same unspoken questions-the gifts, the visions, our bonds to powerful supernatural men.
She pales, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Paige, if that’s true…”
“I know.” I meet her eyes, feeling the tremor in my own voice. “It means whatever I am, you are too. And whoever those eggs belonged to, they weren’t human.”
That silence holds us captive. The clock ticks, the fridge hums softly, and I realize we’re both holding our breath.
Finally, she reaches out, her hand finding mine. “At least you’re still my sister,” she says fiercely. “That doesn’t change.”
“I know.” I squeeze her hand gently. “Even if we had different parents, you’d still be my sister.”
Poppy swallows hard, blinking rapidly. “Do you think Mum knew? About the donor? About what they were doing?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “But I’m going to find out.”
Her expression hardens with the quiet, protective determination I’ve seen countless times-whether she’s fighting for a patient or shielding me from my own doubts. “Then we’ll find out together.”
I nod, feeling the ache in my chest ease just a little. No matter what we were born from, no matter what they made us to be, we’ll face it side by side.
**Paige’s Perspective**
For several moments, neither of us stirs. The atmosphere between us feels thick with the echoes of Mum’s laughter, Dad’s quiet, reassuring presence, and all the fragments of a life that suddenly seem out of place. Yet beneath that weight, there’s a comforting warmth. Poppy’s hand resting gently in mine, a silent vow that whatever lies ahead, we’ll face it side by side. That, despite everything, nothing has truly shifted.
After a pause, she exhales softly and leans back in her chair. “You know,” she says, her voice steadier now, “there’s one person who might have known something. Mum’s old friend… what was her name again? The one who used to come around at Christmas with those awful makeup sets that always gave us rashes.”
I chuckle quietly. “Margaret. Oh yes, she’d hug us so tightly I thought she might break a rib.”
Poppy smiles faintly, lost in the memory. “She always smelled of flowers and sherry.”
“Mostly sherry,” I add with a grin.
Her laughter bubbles up, but then her expression turns serious again. “Maybe she knew something. Maybe Mum confided in her back then.”
I shake my head. “You know Mum. She wouldn’t have told a soul. She’d have died before admitting she needed help to conceive.”
Poppy’s lips curve into a sad smile. “True. She’d rather have convinced everyone that she’d done the impossible purely through sheer willpower.”
“Exactly.” I manage a small laugh. “And Dad would have played along, pretending to believe her because it made her happy.”
The image makes us both laugh, easing some of the tension that had settled between us.
“She’d be horrified if she saw me now,” I add, half-joking. “Living with four men, half of them shirtless most of the time, and the whole village knowing about it.”
Poppy bursts out laughing, her eyes sparkling. “She’d probably throw herself at a priest, begging for an intervention.”
“She’d call it a phase and start shoving dating profiles of respectable accountants under my nose.”
“Or lawyers,” Poppy chimes in with a grin. “She always thought lawyers sounded impressive.”
I snort, shaking my head. “Oh, she’d lose her mind if she knew I was back with Ryder.”
Poppy’s smile widens, mischief lighting up her eyes. “Absolutely. She’d march straight over here and demand to meet him herself. You know, she never trusted that boy.”
I lower my voice, mimicking Dad’s deep rumble, folding my arms over my chest. “That Ryder lad’s a good-for-nothing troublemaker, Paige. Head full of nonsense, heart full of excuses.”
Poppy bursts out laughing again, slapping her knee. “Oh my goodness, that’s perfect! Wait, let me try.” She clears her throat and adopts Mum’s sharp tone, the one she used when she was ranting. “You’re far too good for him, young lady! You’ll end up heartbroken or pregnant, possibly both!”
That’s it-I’m laughing so hard my stomach aches. “You’ve nailed her voice,” I say between breaths. “She wasn’t exactly wrong, though. I always waited for her to say, ‘I told you so,’ but she never did.”
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