Chapter 10: The First Sarah Morgan
For a moment, nobody moved.
The officer's words hung in the air like a warning.
*The first Sarah Morgan.*
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?””
The officer looked uncomfortable.
“I don't know.””
“Where is the photograph?””
“Still being processed.””
“Show me.””
“Sarah—”
“No.””
My voice came out sharper than I expected.
“Someone has been using my name, my face, my life. Someone buried evidence with my fingerprints. Someone created a grave with my name on it.””
I stepped closer.
“Now you're telling me there is a photograph labeled ‘The First Sarah Morgan.’”
I looked at Harris.
“I need to see it.””
He held my gaze for a few seconds.
Then he nodded.
“Bring it.””
The officer disappeared back toward the barn.
Mark remained silent beside me.
I looked at him.
“You knew.””
His face tightened.
“Not this.””
“You knew there was something about me.””
“Yes.””
“And you didn't tell me.””
“I didn't know how.””
“You could have started with the truth.””
“I was trying to protect you.””
I laughed.
“Protect me?””
My voice cracked.
“You watched me walk into a trap.””
“I was trying to stop it.””
“But you didn't.””
He looked down.
And that silence hurt more than an answer.
I turned away.
For years, Mark had been the one person I believed would always stand beside me.
My older brother.
My protector.
The person who held my hand when our parents died.
Now I wasn't sure whether he had been protecting me…
or protecting the secret.
Harris walked back toward us.
“Sarah.””
I turned.
He was holding an evidence bag.
Inside was a photograph.
Old.
Faded.
But clear enough.
My hands felt numb.
He handed it to me.
I looked.
And my entire body froze.
It was me.
But it wasn't.
A little girl.
Maybe six years old.
Standing in front of the Morgan farmhouse.
Same dark hair.
Same eyes.
Same birthmark near the left side of the neck.
My birthmark.
I looked at Harris.
“What is this?””
“No one knows yet.””
I turned the photograph over.
There was writing on the back.
*Sarah Morgan. Age 6.*
Then underneath:
*Original placement.*
I swallowed.
“Original placement?””
Mark looked terrified.
“I've never seen that.””
I turned toward him.
“Then explain.””
“I can't.””
“You always say that.””
“Because I don't know.””
I looked back at the photograph.
The little girl looked happy.
She was holding a stuffed rabbit.
A rabbit identical to the one Leo carried everywhere.
My breathing changed.
“No.””
Harris noticed.
“What?””
“That rabbit.””
He looked closer.
“You recognize it?””
“It was my son's.””
The room became silent.
“That can't be possible.””
“I know.””
I touched the plastic bag.
“My father gave me that rabbit.””
Mark looked at me.
“What?””
“He told me it was mine when I was little.””
“You never had it.””
I turned.
“What?””
Mark shook his head slowly.
“You never had a rabbit like that.””
I felt dizzy.
“Yes, I did.””
“No, Sarah.””
His voice softened.
“You told me you wished you had one.””
I stared.
“That doesn't make sense.””
“I know.””
“Because I remember it.””
Mark looked at me.
“That’s the problem.””
The words hit me.
My memories.
How many were real?
How many had been created?
How many had been altered?
Harris took the photograph.
“We need to understand something.””
“What?””
“There may be two separate issues here.””
“What do you mean?””
“The person pretending to be you recently.””
He pointed to the photo.
“And the possibility that your identity has been manipulated much longer.””
I stared at him.
“Much longer?””
“Yes.””
“How long?””
He didn't answer.
The officer from the barn approached again.
“Detective.””
Harris turned.
“We found something else.””
“What?””
“A box of records.””
“Where?””
“Hidden behind the wall of the barn.””
“Old?””
“Very.””
“How old?””
The officer hesitated.
“Twenty-five years.””
My stomach tightened.
“Bring them.””
The box contained documents.
Birth records.
Medical files.
School records.
Photographs.
All belonging to one person.
Sarah Morgan.
But as Harris opened the first folder, something immediately felt wrong.
The dates.
The details.
The information.
They didn't match me.
The medical records described a child born three years before me.
The school records listed a different elementary school.
The photographs showed the same face.
But different memories.
Different places.
Different life.
I looked at Harris.
“Someone created another Sarah.””
He nodded slowly.
“Yes.””
“But why?””
Nobody answered.
Then Dr. Porter appeared.
Two officers escorted her toward us.
My heart dropped.
“Elaine.””
She looked exhausted.
Not guilty.
Not angry.
Just tired.
“Sarah.””
I stepped toward her.
“You knew.””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I knew something.””
“That's not an answer.””
“I was trying to protect you.””
Everyone kept saying that.
Everyone.
And every time it sounded less believable.
“Protect me from what?””
She looked at the photograph.
Then at the documents.
“From remembering.””
I felt a chill.
“Remembering what?””
She swallowed.
“The truth about who you are.””
Silence.
Harris stepped forward.
“Dr. Porter, you need to explain.””
She nodded.
“I will.””
She looked at me.
“But you may not like what you hear.””
“I stopped liking things a long time ago.””
She closed her eyes.
“Twenty-five years ago, there was an accident.””
“What kind?””
“A house fire.””
I frowned.
“My family never had a fire.””
“Yes, they did.””
“No.””
“Sarah…”
Her voice broke.
“Your parents died because of that fire.””
I froze.
“My parents died years apart.””
“No.””
She shook her head.
“They didn't.””
The world tilted.
“What are you saying?””
“Your memories were changed.””
Harris looked at her.
“Changed by who?””
Dr. Porter looked at me.
“Your father.””
I stared.
“My father?””
“Yes.””
“That makes no sense.””
“It will.””
She took a breath.
“Your father was involved in a research program.””
“What kind of research?””
“Memory treatment.””
I felt sick.
“You're saying my father experimented on me?””
“No.””
She paused.
“Not intentionally.””
That was somehow worse.
“What happened?””
She looked at the documents.
“There was another child.””
The photograph.
The first Sarah Morgan.
“She was your sister.””
I couldn't speak.
“What?””
Mark looked stunned.
“I didn't know.””
Dr. Porter continued.
“Your parents adopted her.””
“Why?””
“Because they believed they could give her a better life.””
I stared at the photograph.
“The first Sarah Morgan.””
“Yes.””
“What happened to her?””
Dr. Porter looked away.
“She died.””
The words hit me.
“When?””
“The night of the fire.””
My chest tightened.
“But I survived.””
“Yes.””
“Then why do the records show two Sarahs?””
“Because after the fire, your father did something impossible.””
“What?””
“He changed your identity.””
I shook my head.
“No.””
“He couldn't accept losing one daughter.””
“So he replaced her?””
Dr. Porter didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
The answer was there.
I looked at the photograph again.
The little girl.
The rabbit.
The name.
The first Sarah Morgan.
My voice became quiet.
“Was I supposed to be Sarah?””
“No.””
My heart broke.
“Then who was I?””
Dr. Porter looked at me.
“That is the question your father spent his life trying to answer.””
I looked at Mark.
“Did you know?””
He shook his head.
“No.””
“You knew something.””
“I knew Dad lied.””
“About me?””
“About everything.””
Dr. Porter continued.
“Your father created a new identity after the fire.””
“For me?””
“For himself.””
I frowned.
“What does that mean?””
“He couldn't accept that the daughter he raised had died.””
She looked at the photograph.
“So he raised the surviving child as Sarah.””
I felt numb.
The words didn't make sense.
They couldn't.
“You're telling me my whole life…”
She nodded.
“Was built on someone else's name.””
I stepped back.
“No.””
“Sarah—”
“No.””
I looked at Harris.
“She's lying.””
Harris didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
Because nobody knew.
Dr. Porter reached into her bag.
She pulled out an envelope.
“I kept this because I hoped you would never need it.””
“What is it?””
“A letter from your father.””
I didn't want to touch it.
But I did.
The handwriting was familiar.
My father's.
The first line made my heart stop.
*My dear Sarah,*
I almost dropped it.
The letter continued.
*If you are reading this, then someone has finally forced the truth into your hands.*
I kept reading.
*I need you to know one thing. You were never a replacement.*
My vision blurred.
*You were my daughter before I ever knew your name.*
I swallowed.
*But there are people who will use this truth against you.*
I looked at Harris.
The letter continued.
*They will tell you that your life was fake. They will tell you that you are an imitation. Do not believe them.*
My hands shook.
*The truth is not that you stole someone else's life. The truth is that someone tried to steal yours.*
I stopped.
Then read the final lines.
*The people who caused the fire are still alive.*
My heart raced.
*They know what happened.*
*And they are afraid you will remember.*
I looked up.
“Who caused the fire?””
Nobody spoke.
Then Dr. Porter whispered:
“Your mother suspected it was intentional.””
“And?””
“She was investigating.””
“Before she died?””
“Yes.””
“Who did she suspect?””
Dr. Porter looked toward the evidence bags.
Toward the name that had appeared everywhere.
Daniel.
Brenda.
The trust.
The prescriptions.
The recordings.
Then she said:
“She suspected someone inside the family.””
The air disappeared from my lungs.
“Who?””
Dr. Porter looked at me.
“Your father never wrote the name down.””
“Why?””
“Because he was afraid.””
“Of who?””
She hesitated.
Then:
“Your uncle.””
I stared.
“My uncle?””
“I know.””
“I don't have an uncle.””
Dr. Porter looked at Mark.
“Yes.””
Mark's face went pale.
“We do.””
I turned.
“What?””
He whispered:
“The man Dad told us never to talk about.””
I felt a chill.
“What man?””
Mark looked toward the old farmhouse.
“The brother who disappeared.””
I stared.
“What was his name?””
Mark's voice was barely audible.
“Daniel Morgan.””
The same first name.
The same name that had followed me for months.
Daniel Cross.
Daniel.
My heart pounded.
Before I could ask another question, Harris's radio exploded with static.
An officer's voice came through.
“Detective!””
Harris grabbed it.
“Go ahead.””
“We found Rachel Ellis.””
Everyone froze.
“Where?””
The officer hesitated.
“She came out of hiding.””
“Location?””
The answer made my blood run cold.
“She is standing outside Sarah Morgan's childhood bedroom.””
Harris looked at me.
“That room hasn't been opened in twenty-five years.””
I stared toward the farmhouse.
The abandoned house where my memories began.
Or where they ended.
Then Harris received another message.
His expression changed.
“What?””
The officer continued:
“She says she has proof of who Sarah Morgan really is.””
A pause.
“And she says Sarah needs to see it before Brenda kills everyone who knows the truth.””
I felt my heart stop.
Because for the first time...
May you like
I wasn't sure whether I wanted to remember.
Or whether forgetting had been the only thing keeping me alive.
