Susan's Outburst
Pointing at Mark, each word ice-sharp, she declared, "Mark Johnson! Your report is official? Then explain Lucas! Explain eyes identical to yours! The identical birthmark!" She crouched abruptly, yanking up the boy’s left pant leg to the thigh. Startled, he squirmed. Near his hip, a small, irregular brown birthmark came into view. Dead silence fell. That mark—a brand—seared into my vision. I knew it!
The Secret Mark
All too familiar! Identical to the one high on Mark’s left thigh—same spot, nearly same shape. Our most private imprint! I’d seen it countless times as he dressed. No outsider could know! Impossible! My head snapped toward Mark, body trembling uncontrollably. He stood petrified, eyes locked on the birthmark, face bloodless. No longer panic—pure terror and despair. He staggered back, thudding against a cabinet.
A Glimpse of Truth
Mark’s reaction, Susan’s blend of anguish and vindication, that irrefutable mark... shattered the illusion. That report had to be forged! A serpentine thought coiled: Mark could father children! He’d deceived me! Eight long years! Breathing grew labored; my chest bore a crushing weight. Gripping the sofa arm, knuckles white, I steadied myself. Eyes fixed on Mark, voice grating, I stated coldly: "That report... it’s fake, isn’t it? You’ve lied all along." Not a question—an accusation.
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