Chapter 2: Is Alisha hers?

Eloise sat frozen in the hospital corridor, her fingers clutching the edge of the chair. Laera sat beside her, both waiting for the DNA results.

Could Alisha really not be her child? No—impossible. Eloise didn’t believe it. This was absurd.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed. She picked it up, her voice low.

“Hello.”

“Mrs. Eloise… your grandfather doesn’t have much time left. Would you like to come and see him one last time?”

Whatever she heard drained the color from her face.

Her grandfather was in another wing of the same hospital. Without a word to Laera, Eloise shot to her feet and ran. Laera called after her, startled, but Eloise didn’t answer. She just kept running.

The message had struck like a bolt of lightning—sharp, sudden, and utterly paralyzing. Yet she couldn’t stop moving.

From the day she was born, her grandfather had adored her. He’d raised her like a princess, protecting her from every storm, making sure she wanted for nothing. He had trusted her enough to pass her the family company, telling her she deserved a life where she never had to bow her head to anyone. And she had believed she’d always have him by her side.

She reached the geriatric wing, eyes wide with dread. The nurses didn’t try to stop her. She pushed the door open.

There he was.

Still. Covered.

"Grandpa?" she whispered, stepping forward. Her fingers brushed his cold hand.

He didn’t move.

Her knees buckled. Her chest ached like it was splitting open from the inside.

"I'm so sorry," the doctor said gently. "He asked us to give this to you."

He handed her something small—her grandfather’s wristwatch.

The one he never took off.

Eloise clutched it to her chest, sobbing silently. The world felt suddenly, achingly, empty.

---

(Flashback)

"Cute Pa!" Eloise giggled, kissing his cheek.

"My favorite fox!" he grinned.

"Miss me?"

"Always. Even though I saw you this morning."

He tapped his beloved watch. "You’re jealous of this, aren’t you?"

"Totally," she joked.

"Time, Eloise," he said seriously. "Time’s the only thing that saves you when the world closes in."

---

(Back to present)

She kissed the cold back of his hand. "I love you," she whispered, each word scraping against the lump in her throat. The air felt too thin, as if the room itself was pressing down on her.

Eloise clutched it to her chest, sobbing silently. The world felt suddenly, achingly, empty.

Now that her grandfather was gone, her world was reduced to just her daughter and her husband. She had to hold on to that. She had to believe—no, she was certain—that Alisha was her child. She had to be.

****

Hours had passed, Eloise dragged her feet out of the sterile room, with her shoulders dropped, dried tears plastered on her face, red nose and red swollen eyes.

She dragged her feet back to the DNA testing room, where she found Laera and Dr. Glenda, staring at her with sorrowful eyes.

"Go ahead," Eloise said to Glenda. “Tell me the results.”

Laera stood nearby, her expression heavy with worry. Glenda, arms folded, stared at the floor, avoiding Eloise’s gaze.

Without saying anything, Dr. Monica gave her the envelope.

With trembling hands, Eloise peeled the envelope open. Her eyes scanned the DNA report. Then stopped.

Her hands began to shake.

"This can’t be right," she breathed. "It says I’m not..."

"Alisha isn’t your biological daughter," Monica said gently.

Eloise snapped her head up. "That’s impossible. I gave birth to her. I nursed her. I held her first. I sang to her every single night."

"I know this is hard," Glenda said quietly, "but the results don’t lie. The diagnosis—HFI—is a genetic condition. It had to come from one of the parents. And you don’t have it."

Eloise made to speak, but all that came out was heavy air; her knees buckled, and she sank onto the floor. Fighting to breathe, she felt the room spinning as she replayed every memory.

Alisha’s cries, the late-night feeding, the lullabies, the tiny hand wrapped around her finger, the laughter, the milestone. How could she not be her daughter?

She shook her head in denial and made to speak but no word escaped her mouth.

“ Ah, ah!” Then she let out a deep wail that tore from her chest. A grief she never knew existed claws through her, savage and raw. Her head vibrated like she was on the verge of losing her sanity.

Mourning three loved ones at the same time, the one she loved since her childhood, the one she lost and didn't know she lost, and the one she can't let go of.

“ No,” she shook her head vigorously, “ I sang to her, she cried when I left the room- she knows my voice,” tears spilled down her cheeks, hot and unrelenting.

"I thought Mr. Mason told you..." Glenda whispered.

Everything around Eloise blurred. "He knew?"

Glenda gave the faintest nod.

A ringing filled Eloise’s ears. Her vision dimmed, but her rage burned bright. "No. No, you’re wrong. You’re all wrong."

Laera stepped forward. "El, maybe you should talk to him. You deserve answers."

Eloise didn’t reply. Her chest felt like it was caving in, each breath a battle. She staggered out of the hospital, the fluorescent lights fading behind her.

The cold air slapped her face, but she barely noticed.

She hadn’t even thought to fix her hair or wipe her swollen eyes. Still in her wrinkled, loose dress and with dried tear tracks on her cheeks, she raised a trembling hand to flag down a taxi. There was only one place she needed to be. One person she needed to face.

*****

On the last floor of the company, the security guard could see a familiar figure alighting from the taxi and walking into the building. He was shocked as the lady came closer — he recognized her instantly.

He was too shocked to respond when she greeted him.

“Is that–Is that Miss Eloise?” his eyes bulged out of the socket. She looked like a woman hit by every world's hardship; her hair was messy, her eyes were red and puffy, her face was swollen like she spent her days crying, and her dress was bigger than her figure. He'd never imagined her dress like that, in a baggy gown, it was so unlike the fierce, hot, and gorgeous lady he knew.

Eloise took the elevator, after multiple calls to reach Mason, which were to no avail, she called his secretary, whom she was familiar with, and who told her she left him in the office. Eloise swallowed, her red eyes had tears brimming, her body felt cold, demanding his warmth, her heart ached, desperately wanting to see him, to seek answers, ones she wanted to hear.

The elevator dinged and opened, she stepped out, and her steps hastened towards the office door, not wanting a second to pass again without seeing him. In haste, she twisted the knob and pushed the door open. The moment she stepped inside, her eyes fell on them, first on her best friend in a bra and skirt, sitting and holding hands with her. Her husband.

“Mason? Tamara?,” shocked beyond words, her mind went blank. Her bag slipped from her hand to the floor. Blood drained from her face, and her legs remained glued to the ground.

Her lips parted, her widened eyes moved from Tamara to Mason, then to Tamara again.

This was her best friend, the one she tells everything and anything, the one she lets into her life without a second thought. They laughed together, danced together, ate together, and slept together. A friend like a sister she never had, hurt her, and see Eloise's red blazing eyes and clawed fingers. But yet, here she was, that best friend she loves like no other, sitting half-naked on top of her husband.