This one sentence hit Olivia Bennett like a bolt of lightning—she felt like she’d just been tossed in a deep fryer, crispy on the outside, frazzled on the inside.
Just a second ago, Damian Franklin had said the present was for her. Now, suddenly, it was for their daughter?
What the heck was going on?
Did Damian Franklin misspeak? Or had she misheard him?
Olivia stared at Damian, her mind racing with wild, impossible, soap-opera-level ideas.
She felt like she was floating outside her own body, dazed and numb.
Damian let out a sigh, looked deep into her eyes, and finally stopped dancing around the truth. “Olivia, you are our daughter.”
Boom.
Olivia’s mind went blank. Not just blank—more like someone had pressed pause on reality.
Did she hear that right?
Damian Franklin just said she was his daughter?
Her lips moved, but it took her a moment to find her voice. “You must have me confused with someone else. I have parents. There’s no way I’m your daughter.”
“You are,” Damian insisted, calm and certain. Then he asked, “Do you know your mother’s name?”
Her grandma had always told her this, so she nodded. “Belinda Franklin.”
Damian’s gaze softened. “And do you know why my last name is Franklin?”
Olivia froze.
They were both Franklins.
Sure, it was a common enough name—like Smith or Johnson—but after what Damian had just said, it was impossible to chalk this up to coincidence.
But before Olivia could respond, Damian continued, “Franklin is your mother’s last name. And Damian—well, it sounds a lot like Carl, as in Carl Bennett.”
Olivia stared at him, completely stunned. “You…”
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