lanie stood frozen, staring at Adam as the weight of his words settled around her. She had seen her father and then had a panic attack? How was that possible?
Her brow furrowed and she tried to picture that day trying to recall who she might have crossed paths with that could have been her father? The elevator had been empty and any other mory remained hazy. Nothing specific ca to mind. No face. No voice.
She looked at Adam, hoping he would be able tell her more. But he only returned her gaze silently, letting her reach it on her own.
She sent him an accusing look," Why do you have to make feel like a detective? Just tell everything directly."
Adam shrugged,"Because your subconscious mind can give you better answers."
lanie thought hard as she began voice, "That day... I had gone to see Marianne Thomas. For the refurbishnt consult and then I had the panic attack.."
Adam nodded once, but still said nothing.
"I rember that part. But I did not et anyone new on that day. Just Marianne and then in the elevator I stared to feel sick... " lanie paused, thinking hard as she tried to think whom she could have t. ’Could it be that she had spotted her father sowhere before that?’
She closed her eyes for a mont, pressing her fingers into her temple and sighed "But the full-blown panic... it ca later. After I left the building. I rember that now. I got to the front doors and that’s when I couldn’t breathe anymore."
Her voice faltered as she shook her head. "But I didn’t et any man that day. It was just Marianne. I walked in, we spoke for a bit- But no-wait..."
She stopped.
A stillness ca over her.
"No," she said again in a low voice. "I did et soone."
Adam didn’t move and she knew that she was close now.
"Mr Thomas," she whispered. "Marianne’s husband. He had just said returned when I was leaving. I said sothing like he hadn’t changed much. I’d ant to refer to his photos but he’d had an odd look on his face for a few monts."
She looked at Adam for confirmation and when he nodded, lanie fell into the chair behind her as the implications slowly sank in. Slowly, as if in a haze, she said, "So that ans Marianne is my mother?"
Adam nodded slowly. "Hmm."
lanie sat down slowly, barely noticing the chair behind her until she felt its edges press into her legs and thought back to the first ti she had t Marianne at the club. The older woman had co across as being overly curious about her... keeping on questioning her... it had made her cautious and that is why she had hurriedly escaped.
But the woman had found her from their passing conversation and so their second ti had been at her own store. Marianne had co in alone. Said she was browsing. But she’d lingered. And she rembered how curious she had been even then.. Asking questions and even talking about wanting to invest in the store... But when she had offered to take her to the professionals, Marianne had stubbornly refused, insisting that she wanted only her opinion.
But lanie had finally concluded that maybe this was the woman’s personality and though it had felt awkward, lanie had agreed to going to her house. Marianne Thomas had seed overly pleased at that.
Then, finally, they’d had the eting at Marianne’s ho for the refurbishnt consult. That was the day of the panic attack.
Marianne had been warm. Overly so. Too many smiles. Too much interest in things that didn’t require it. She’d insisted on walking her around the house and had almost been overeager to share.And then when she was leaving, Marianne had almost caught her hand and stopped her from escaping before pulling her hand back.
Her hand had hovered near lanie’s arm for a second before she pulled it back, like she’d thought better of it.
At the ti, lanie had just wanted to leave and that was why after that, she had avoided Marianne’s requests and pushed the rest of the plans on her assistant.
And then Mr. Thomas.
He’d appeared just as she was leaving. She’d made a passing comnt- "you haven’t changed much", thinking of the photos on the shelf. He’d looked surprised. For a second, hopeful. Then quiet. He’d said nothing, just nodded like he didn’t trust himself to speak.
She hadn’t thought twice about it then. But now it felt different.
Her eyes flicked to Adam.
They’d known she was their biological daughter. Which is why they had been trying so hard to connect to her...
But even though she knew her own conclusions, she didn’t say them out loud. But she could feel it. Marianne. Her husband. They both knew exactly who she was. The looks, the hesitations, the tension-it all added up.
They had recognised her.
"How did they recognise ?’" She asked slowly looking at Adam with a face full of questions. "Adam. Can you just tell everything once and for all?"
Adam sighed and caught her hands in his and answered, "You...look like their daughter."
lanie frowned at that. " I look like their daughter? What kind of a reasoning is that? I don’t look anywhere like my younger self. So how could they have recognised ."
Adam sighed and dropped another fact bomb on his wife, "I ant you look exactly like their younger daughter...your little sister."
" I have a sister too?" lanie asked in confusion and then another light bulb went off in her head.
"lody Thomas."
Adam nodded and explained, " Actually Miss lody is the one who approached a couple of days ago. It seems she had ntioned your resemblance to her mother who beca suspicious and ca here. The Thomas’ want to et you but they seem to be worried that you have been influenced against them by your grandmother. So, Miss lody has approached on their behalf to help diate or smooth over things."
lanie frowned at that and asked, " What did you tell them?"
Adam pulled her from the chair, needing to hold her so that she would not feel as if she was alone in this and answered softly as he hugged her to himself, "Nothing yet... I want to know what you think and want. You, my sweet little lon are my priority.if you want to see them, then I will arrange a place where you are comfortable. If not, then they can keep waiting forever for all I care."
lanie nodded slowly, thankful for Adam. For now, she had no answer to give them.
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