Chapter 69 My mom

Bernard

I stared at Diana's last text message until my screen went dark: "I need some space. Don't contact me until I reach out first. And for the record, I think it was cruel of you to let things develop between us knowing who I was to you."

Her words cut deeper than I wanted to admit. She was right, of course. It had been inexcusable to allow our relationship to develop beyond professional boundaries when I knew our connection. The logical part of my mind had always recognized this fact, but something about Diana had compromised my usually impeccable control.

I set my phone down on my desk and turned to face the Manhattan skyline. The city lights blurred slightly as I allowed myself a rare moment of emotional vulnerability in private.

"You've made a critical error," I said to my reflection in the glass.

My phone buzzed with a message from Gregory: "Status update on Diana's reaction?"

I hesitated before responding: "As expected. She needs time to process. I've provided the complete file."

Gregory's response came immediately: "Johnson's people are more active. Security team reports increased surveillance. We need her fully integrated soon."

The urgency wasn't surprising, but it complicated an already delicate situation. Diana needed space, yet Gregory's concerns demanded closer protection.

"I understand," I replied. "But pushing her now would be counterproductive. She's processing multiple revelations simultaneously."

Gregory didn't respond further, which I interpreted as reluctant acceptance of my assessment. He'd waited twenty-eight years for his granddaughter; he could wait a few more days for her to come to terms with her identity.

I returned to my desk and opened Diana's file once more, allowing myself to look at the side-by-side photos of her and Elizabeth. The resemblance was undeniable—the same determined set of the jaw, the same intelligent eyes.

"I'll protect you," I promised the image quietly. "Whatever it takes."

Even if it meant keeping my distance. Even if it meant losing the unexpected connection we'd developed. Even if it meant Diana might never forgive me.

Because some priorities transcended personal desires. And Diana's safety was at the top of that list.

Diana

I woke up with a jolt, momentarily disoriented to find myself on my couch instead of in bed. The events of yesterday crashed back into my consciousness like a tidal wave. I wasn't just Diana Peters. I was Elizabeth Diana Morris. I'd been kidnapped as a baby. And Bernard—the man I'd been falling for—was technically my uncle.

"This can't be real," I muttered, rubbing my eyes. But the secure tablet still sitting on my coffee table confirmed it wasn't a nightmare.

I checked my phone, which I'd turned back on sometime during the night. It was already past 9 AM—I was officially late for work. Work at Morris Industries—my family's company, apparently.

There were three missed calls from Nathan, two from Ashley, and a single text from Bernard sent about an hour ago: "Take all the time you need today. Your absence has been explained to the team as a family emergency. Ironically appropriate."

I almost laughed at his attempt at humor, then felt sick as I remembered our kiss in Tokyo, the growing attraction between us, and the revelation that he was my uncle—adoptive or not.

"What am I supposed to do now?" I asked my empty apartment.

I needed to talk to someone, but who could possibly understand this situation? Not Nathan, who'd been suspicious of Bernard from the start but could never have imagined this twist. Not Ashley, who'd encouraged me to explore the connection with Bernard.

My adoptive mother? I froze at the thought. Did she know? The file had suggested she was unaware of my true origins, believing she'd adopted me through legitimate channels. But what if that was a lie? What if she'd known all along?

I needed answers, but I also needed coffee. Desperately.

I shuffled to my kitchen, mechanically going through the motions of brewing coffee while my mind raced. After taking my first sip, I picked up my phone and called the one person who might provide some clarity.

"Diana." Bernard answered on the first ring, his voice carefully controlled. "Are you alright?"

"No," I said bluntly. "I'm not alright. I've just discovered my entire life is a lie, my birth mother is mentally ill because of my kidnapping, and oh yeah, the man I've been developing feelings for is actually my uncle. So no, Bernard, I'm not alright."

There was a pause before he responded. "That's a fair assessment."

"I need to know about my adoptive mother," I said, cutting to the chase. "Did she know? Did she know I was kidnapped?"

"No," Bernard replied immediately. "All evidence indicates she was an unwitting participant. The adoption was arranged through a third party who has since disappeared. Your adoptive mother appears to have genuinely believed she was adopting an unwanted baby through legitimate, if expedited, channels."

I felt a small measure of relief. At least that part of my life hadn't been a complete lie.

"Should I tell her?" I asked, finding myself seeking Bernard's advice despite everything.

"That's your decision," he said carefully. "But consider that such a revelation might be traumatic for her. She's raised you as her daughter for twenty-eight years, believing she was providing a home for a child in need."

I sank onto a kitchen chair, the weight of this new burden heavy on my shoulders. "I can't just pretend nothing's changed."

"Nothing has changed in your relationship with her," Bernard pointed out. "She's still the woman who raised you, who loved you as her daughter."

"That's... surprisingly sensitive coming from you," I remarked, then immediately regretted the harshness in my tone.

"I understand family bonds, Diana," Bernard replied quietly. "Despite what you might think of me right now."

I closed my eyes, trying to sort through my chaotic emotions. "I don't know what to think of you, Bernard. I don't know what to think of any of this."

"Would it help to meet Gregory?" he asked unexpectedly. "To speak with your grandfather directly?"

My heart rate spiked at the suggestion. "I don't know if I'm ready for that."

"He's eager to connect with you properly," Bernard said. "But also understands your need for time. When you're ready—if you're ready—he'll make himself available."

"And my mother? Elizabeth?" The name felt strange on my tongue—this woman who had given birth to me, who had lost her mind when I was taken.

Bernard's voice softened slightly. "She's at a private facility in Connecticut. Her condition fluctuates. There are periods of lucidity when she might recognize you, but they're unpredictable."

"Do you visit her?" I asked, suddenly curious about Bernard's relationship with my birth mother—his adoptive sister.

"Weekly," he replied. "Every Sunday afternoon."

The answer surprised me. I'd somehow imagined Bernard as too busy, too focused on his corporate responsibilities to maintain such a regular schedule with someone who might not even recognize him.

"Why?" I asked before I could stop myself.