“Joshua left this for you,” I said, holding it just out of his reach, “with instructions to deliver it only if absolutely necessary. I believe this qualifies.”
Robert stared at the sealed envelope in my hand, recognition and apprehension flickering across his drawn features.
“Joshua wrote to me.”
“Apparently,” I continued, “he anticipated that even a legal settlement wouldn’t keep you away permanently.”
I held the letter, making no move to hand it over yet.
“He prepared for every contingency, including this one.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Dr. Harmon shifted awkwardly, clearly sensing he’d been brought into something more complex than a straightforward medical consultation.
The Mitchell brothers exchanged glances, some unspoken communication passing between them.
“Before I give you this,” I continued, “I want absolute clarity about what you’re asking. You want my daughter—the same young woman you manipulated and lied to six months ago—to undergo medical testing and potentially major surgery to save your life.”
“It sounds callous when you phrase it that way,” Alan interjected.
“But yes,” I said evenly, “essentially.”
Robert’s condition is grave, and family members provide the best chance for compatible donation.
“Why not David or Alan?” I asked, looking at the other brothers. “Siblings are typically even better matches than nieces.”
Dr. Harmon cleared his throat. “We’ve tested both Mr. Mitchell’s brothers. Neither is compatible due to some unusual genetic factors.”
“And there are no other siblings,” I pressed, watching their reactions carefully. “No other family members who might be suitable donors?”
Another significant glance between the brothers. David looked away, suddenly fascinated by the view through the window.
“No,” Robert replied firmly. “No other siblings.”
I nodded slowly, then handed him Joshua’s letter.
“I think you should read this before we continue this conversation.”
With slightly trembling hands, Robert broke the seal and unfolded the pages inside.
His eyes moved across the first few lines, then widened in shock.
Color drained from his face as he continued reading, the pages shaking visibly in his grasp.
Alan leaned forward. “Robert, what is it?”
But Robert didn’t respond, completely absorbed in Joshua’s words.
When he finally looked up, his expression had transformed—the confident businessman replaced by a man confronting ghosts he’d thought long buried.
“How long have you known?” he asked me hoarsely.
“I only know that Joshua left this for you,” I said, “with instructions that it contained information you might need someday.” I met his gaze steadily. “What exactly did my husband write?”
Robert handed the letter to Alan, who began reading with David looking over his shoulder.
Their expressions shifted in near unison—from curiosity, to disbelief, to something approaching horror.
“This can’t be true,” Alan said finally, looking at Robert. “Father would have told us.”
“Would he?” Robert laughed bitterly. “The same father who pitted us against each other our entire lives. Who played favorites depending on his mood. Who took pleasure in holding secrets over our heads?”
I watched this exchange with growing curiosity. Whatever Joshua had revealed in that letter had clearly shaken the brothers to their core.
“Perhaps,” I suggested quietly, “someone should tell me what my husband wrote.”
Robert seemed to remember my presence, his gaze refocusing on me with new awareness.
“Joshua wasn’t our half-brother,” Robert said. “He was our full brother.”
This made no sense. “I don’t understand. Joshua told me your father remarried after your mother died giving birth to him. That’s why there was such an age gap between you.”
“That was the story we all believed,” Robert confirmed. “But according to this letter, Joshua discovered the truth while researching his heart condition. Our mother didn’t die in childbirth. She left our father when Joshua was an infant—unable to tolerate his abusive behavior any longer. Father created the story about her death to avoid the scandal of abandonment and to punish her by erasing her completely.”
“But that’s not all,” Alan continued, his legal precision reasserting itself even through his shock. “Joshua discovered that our father had another family—a relationship that began before our mother left and continued for decades after. A woman in Saskatoon with whom he had two more children.”
Now I understood the significance.
“Two more Mitchell siblings,” I said slowly, “a brother and sister—both in their forties now.”
“Both sharing our rare blood type and genetic markers,” Robert confirmed, scanning the letter again, “according to medical records Joshua somehow obtained—and likely unaware of their connection to us.”
I surmised the pieces falling into place. “Joshua found them but didn’t contact them, did he? He simply confirmed their existence and medical compatibility.”
Robert nodded slowly. “According to this, he even had their contact information verified annually through a private investigator, ensuring it remained current.”
“In case,” I said, “in case one of you ever needed what you’re asking of Jenna now—a compatible donor from family you never acknowledged.”
The irony was breathtaking.
The Mitchell brothers had come to ask my daughter—the niece they had tried to manipulate and defraud—for potentially life-saving organ donation, while completely unknown siblings existed who might provide the same medical match.
“There’s more,” David said quietly, having taken the letter from Alan. “Joshua writes that he only discovered all this after his own diagnosis. He was already planning Maple Creek Farm for you, Catherine, but learning about these other siblings solidified his resolve to break completely from the Mitchell family legacy of secrets and manipulation.”
He swallowed, eyes on the page.
“He writes that he wanted to create something honest and transparent to leave behind—something built on love rather than obligation.”
Tears pricked at my eyes as I recognized my husband’s values in those words. Even from beyond the grave, he was teaching all of us about integrity and truth.
“So,” I said finally, “it seems you have alternatives to approaching my daughter—two half-siblings who share your medical markers.”
“Strangers,” Robert protested weakly. “We don’t even know these people.”
