Stolen Identity: Mute Heiress

Callan blinked as the name dropped into his ears like a stone falling into a deep well.

Ryan Harris.

His fork slid out of his hand and clattered against the plate. His lips parted, but no sound came out.

Then, slowly, his eyes widened as all of Jamal's words about Ryan Harris rushed back to him.

He wanted to deny it and say they were mistaken and that his mother had worked for Ryan Harris but he remembered what Jamal had said a few minutes ago about Karen not being his mother and to hear the truth from his parents.

His chest tightened and his breath came in shallow gasps. "No," he whispered, shaking his head as he looked from his father to his mom.

His voice was thin, almost like a child's. "Please, no. No… you don't mean… him. You can't."

Tears gathered in his mother's eyes, and her grip on his hand tightened. "Calm down, Cal," she said softly, but he couldn't hear her.

His heart slammed hard in his chest as his mind slowly replayed all he had heard from Jamal about what Ryan Harris had done to his first love, Dawn.

He remembered his phone conversation with Jamal and the girls when Jamal told them about Dawn and Abigail being the same person.

He remembered how angry he had felt and how he had thought Ryan Harris was the most rotten and evil man he'd ever heard about.

And now they were saying that same man was his biological father? It was that very blood that was flowing through his veins?

Could he get any dirtier? Could his life get any messier?

The room tilted.

Callan shoved back his chair, his legs unsteady as he stood. "No!" His voice cracked. His hand pressed against his chest as though to steady the wild beating of his heart. "Not him. Anyone else but him. Tell me this is all a mistake and it's not him. Please."

Delilah's eyes filled with tears as she watched him. She'd not seen him this consciously upset since they officially adopted him and brought him home. Seeing him this way broke her heart.

Her lips trembled as she called his name. "Callan…"

But his face was breaking.

His skin went pale, his eyes wet. His breath was sharp and shallow. He staggered back a step, then another, his head shaking fast. "That man… that man is—he's—" His voice broke, and then he choked out the words like they burned in his throat. "He's a monster! He's the man who—who kept Jamal away from Dawn. He stole her life and their son. You're telling me he's my father?"

His voice cracked into a shout.

Delilah pushed her chair back and hurried to him. But Callan had already crumpled against the wall, sliding down until he was on the floor. His hands clutched his hair, his body trembling hard.

"Why would you say that to me?!" His voice came high, raw, like the voice of the little broken boy he had been long ago. "Why would you—why would you lie to me that he's my—"

Delilah dropped to her knees in front of him and pulled him into her arms. "My darling Callan," she whispered through her tears, holding him like she had when he was little.

Hunter remained in his seat, his eyes red as he stared at the two people he had come to love most in the world.

He didn't know Ryan Harris personally other than reading about him on business news, but he'd heard all about what the man had done from Harry, and he understood Callan's reaction.

Callan broke apart. His face buried into her chest. His shoulders shook. His sobs were loud and broken, as though they'd been waiting for years to come out.

"I don't want him!" Callan cried like a child. His fists clung to her blouse. "I don't want him to be my father. I don't want him!"

Delilah wept softly, kissing his hair, rubbing the back of his head. "Shh… shh, my love. You are my son. You are ours. Nothing can change that. Not ever."

Callan shook, his tears wetting his mother's shirt. His chest heaved as if the breathing hurt. His face pressed into her as though she was the only safe thing left in his world.

Hunter rose. He stood by the table, his jaw tight, his own eyes wet as he watched his son break down. He wondered how Callan would react after he heard the rest of the story.

Delilah held Callan closer, whispering soft words through her own tears.

"My Callan. My sweet son. Let it out. Let it all out. I've got you. We've always got you."

And Callan wept like the little boy he had been twenty years ago, back when he thought no one wanted him.

Delilah didn't let go. Not even when her knees went numb against the hardwood floor, or when her blouse was soaked through with her son's tears. She just rocked him gently, murmuring into his hair.

Hunter crouched down after a long silence, his hand coming to rest carefully on Callan's shoulder. "Callan," he said in a low and calm voice, "breathe with me, okay? Let's breathe."

Callan's body was trembling so hard it seemed like he couldn't stop. His breath hitched, until his father tapped his back.

Slowly, Callan tried to match the rhythm of Hunter's breathing.

It was messy at first, broken with sobs, but after a while the storm of his crying dulled into smaller waves and he could breathe normally again.

Delilah kissed his temple again and again, her hand smoothing his hair back. "My love," she whispered, "you are ours. Nothing changes that. Not a name, not blood, nothing."

Callan sniffed, pulling back just enough to look up at her through swollen, red-rimmed eyes. "Then can we forget about this and act like we never found out?" His voice cracked.

Delilah's heart split all over again. "I'm afraid we can't do that," she admitted, her hand cupping his damp cheek. "There is still a lot of stuff you need to know," she said, and his father nodded.

Callan's lips trembled, his eyes searching his mother's. "What else do I need to know? Is it about Ryan…" His throat closed around the name. He swallowed hard. "How did you know he's trying to find me? What does he even want from me?"

Hunter finally spoke, his voice calm. "Let's sit at the table." He helped his wife rise, and then gave Callan a hand and pulled him up.