THE MAN WHO WAS NEVER GABRIEL

Nobody breathed.

The gun in Thomas’s hand didn't waver.

For a man who had guarded this family for fifteen years, his eyes were remarkably dead.

“Put it down, Thomas,” the man we called Gabriel said.

He stood up, swaying slightly. The tremor in his hand was violently visible now.

“Sit down, Julian,” Thomas replied.

The use of the name hit the room like a physical blow.

Daniel stepped in front of his grandmother. “You work for us, Thomas.”

“I work for the clinic,” Thomas corrected. “I always have.”

My mind raced.

Practical things. Measure every decision.

I was a nurse. I saved lives. I didn't end them.

But I was standing closest to the heavy brass lamp on the side table.

“Why Daniel?” I asked, keeping my voice steady. “If you wanted them dead, you could have done it years ago.”

“Daniel is the only biological Moretti left in this house,” Thomas said. “His mother made sure of that.”

I glanced at Evelyn.

She had stopped crying. She was staring at Thomas in pure horror.

“You told me Daniel’s father was a donor,” Evelyn whispered.

“He was,” Thomas said. “But not just any donor.”

Thomas pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket with his free hand and tossed it onto the floor.

It was a child’s drawing.

Crayon. Faded edges.

A drawing of a house, three stick figures, and a dark car.

“Sofia drew that the day before her accident,” Thomas said. “Look at the car.”

Daniel carefully crouched down and picked up the drawing.

He turned pale.

“The license plate,” Daniel whispered. “It’s Dr. Pierce’s car.”

“Sofia saw him tampering with her mother’s brakes,” Thomas said flatly. “She didn't understand what she saw until she was sixteen. When she finally figured it out, Pierce had to silence her.”

Answer one. Open two.

Pierce killed Gabriel’s wife. He caused the crash that took Sofia.

But why?

“What does that have to do with Daniel’s father?” I demanded.

Thomas smiled. It wasn’t a kind smile.

“Because Daniel’s biological father is Leonard Pierce.”

Daniel stumbled backward, hitting the bookshelf.

“No.”

“Your mother went to him for fertility treatments,” Thomas said. “Gabriel was sterile after the shooting. She never told him. But she found out Pierce used his own samples.”

Julian—the man who loved Daniel like a son—stepped forward.

“Don't you touch my boy.”

“He isn't yours,” Thomas said, raising the gun level with Daniel’s chest.

I didn't think. I just moved.

I grabbed the heavy brass lamp and swung it as hard as I could at Thomas’s skull.

The gun went off.

Deafening noise. Shattered glass.

Thomas collapsed.

I fell to my knees, gasping for air.

“Is everyone okay?” I yelled.

“Dad?” Daniel screamed.

I turned.