My Michael... My Son

Chapter 2: The Girl Named Lily

Michael did not ask another question until the girl was breathing.

He carried her himself into the emergency room while nurses rushed around him. Lily's lungs were tight, her fever dangerously high, and her small hands kept reaching for the old man even as the nurses placed an oxygen mask over her face.

"Grandpa," she cried weakly.

The old man stood near the wall, shaking from cold and fear.

Michael glanced at him. "You can stay where she can see you."

The old man's eyes filled again. "Thank you."

Two hours later, Lily was stable.

Only then did Michael step into the small waiting room where the old man sat wrapped in a hospital blanket.

"Tell me your name," Michael said.

The old man looked down. "Thomas Reed."

Michael's body went still.

Reed.

His own last name.

"That's impossible."

Thomas nodded slowly. "That is what your mother wanted you to believe."

Michael's jaw tightened. "My father died in a factory explosion."

"No," Thomas said. "I was sent to prison."

Michael stared at him.

"For what?"

Thomas swallowed. "For a crime I did not commit."

Michael almost walked out.

It sounded too convenient. Too cruel. A strange old man arrives with a sick child, calls him son, then claims his whole life was built on a lie.

But then Thomas reached into his soaked coat and pulled out a plastic-wrapped photograph.

Inside was a younger Thomas holding a baby.

On the back, in faded ink, were the words:

Michael, three months old.

Michael felt the air leave his chest.

"Where did you get this?"

Thomas looked at him with pain.

"Your mother gave it to me the last day she visited me in prison."

Michael's voice turned cold.

"My mother died last year."

"I know," Thomas said. "That is why I came."

Michael looked toward Lily's room.

"And the girl?"

Thomas's hand trembled around the photo.

"She is your brother's daughter."

Michael went cold.

"I don't have a brother."

Thomas closed his eyes.

"Yes, son. You do."