Chapter 17 - The Twins Opened Their Eyes
I watched the video four times.
The voice sounded like Franklin.
Same cadence.
Same low tone.
Same slight rasp.
Genevieve sat beside me.
“Could it be manipulated?”
“Prescott is checking.”
“You think Franklin was involved?”
“I don’t know.”
“Lawson.”
“I don’t know.”
That answer hurt.
Franklin had been with my family for fifteen years.
He had treated the twins since birth.
Had stood beside me when Genevieve supposedly died.
Had helped save the children.
But so had Victor once appeared trustworthy.
No one received the benefit of loyalty without evidence anymore.
Prescott returned.
“The video audio was edited.”
I exhaled.
“How?”
“AI voice reconstruction mixed with authentic samples.”
“Whose work?”
“Victor’s team.”
Genevieve leaned back.
“He wanted us to turn on Franklin.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Franklin knew the protocol.”
Even after arrest, Victor had planted traps.
That told me what kind of man he was.
Franklin entered later.
I showed him the video.
He looked sick.
“That isn’t me.”
“I know.”
His shoulders dropped.
“You checked?”
“Yes.”
He stared at the screen.
“Victor hated me.”
“Why?”
“I refused to falsify early adverse-event data seven years ago.”
“You worked with Lark?”
“Indirectly.”
Another secret.
My stare hardened.
Franklin raised his hands.
“I didn’t know about embryo selection. I consulted on pediatric immune cases.”
“When did you learn?”
“When Genevieve came to me.”
“And you still didn’t tell me.”
“She begged me.”
I sighed.
“I’m beginning to think my wife ran a very successful conspiracy against my blood pressure.”
Genevieve, standing behind him, said:
“That sounds fair.”
Franklin turned.
They both laughed.
Then Blythe called from the room.
“Why is everybody laughing without us?”
We entered.
Both twins were awake.
Sitting up.
Actually sitting.
Blythe pointed at Genevieve.
“Mom owes us presents.”
Jonah nodded.
“Big ones.”
Genevieve looked at me.
“This is your fault.”
“Entirely.”
“What do you want?” she asked them.
Blythe answered immediately.
“A puppy.”
Jonah said, “Two puppies.”
“No,” I said.
Both stared at me.
Genevieve smiled.
“Four?”
“Genevieve.”
The twins laughed.
Real laughter.
Not polite.
Not weak.
Not a tiny smile for their worried father.
Laughter.
The sound hit me harder than any revelation of the previous week.
I turned away.
Too late.
Jonah saw.
“Dad’s crying.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Medical lighting.”
Blythe giggled.
“Daddy cries from lights.”
Genevieve took my hand.
I let her.
For the first time, holding her didn’t feel like holding a ghost.
It felt like the beginning of something we might actually repair.
Weeks passed.
The twins moved from beds to wheelchairs.
Then from wheelchairs to slow walks.
Their hair had not returned yet.
Blythe announced she preferred scarves anyway.
Jonah hated his.
“Girls get better ones.”
So Elena brought him a baseball cap.
He wore it every day.
The Project Lark scandal became international.
I did not give interviews at first.
Neither did Genevieve.
We refused to turn the twins into symbols.
Their illness belonged to them.
Not the public.
But regulators needed testimony.
Families needed answers.
Eventually, Genevieve testified privately.
I did too.
Elias Vane faced charges connected to research fraud, unlawful data practices, obstruction, and the attack on Genevieve.
Victor faced his own set of charges, including conspiracy and evidence manipulation.
Legal outcomes would take years.
That no longer controlled my life.
One afternoon, Franklin walked into the twins’ room holding a folder.
“What?”
He smiled.
“You really need to stop assuming every folder contains disaster.”
“Experience.”
He placed it on the table.
Blythe’s results.
Jonah’s results.
“Say the word,” I told him.
“Which word?”
“Franklin.”
He grinned.
“Remission.”
Genevieve began crying.
Elena screamed from the doorway.
Prescott, who was not supposed to show emotion, turned toward the window.
Jonah looked confused.
“So we’re better?”
Franklin crouched beside him.
“You’re getting there.”
Blythe asked, “Can we go home?”
Franklin looked at me.
I looked at Genevieve.
She smiled.
“Yes,” I said.
Three days later, we returned to the estate.
The same estate where Elena had waited outside in the rain.
The same room where Genevieve’s necklace changed everything.
Only now the mansion no longer felt like a fortress.
Jonah ran—slowly, but still ran—across the marble floor.
Blythe followed.
Elena laughed.
Genevieve stood beside me.
And for one perfect moment, it looked almost like the photograph I should have had all along.
Family.
Then Blythe stopped.
Turned.
And asked:
“Mom, are you gonna disappear again?”
The room went silent.
Genevieve walked to her.
Knelt.
“No.”
“Promise?”
Genevieve looked at me.
Then back at our daughter.
“Promise.”
Blythe held out her pinky.
Genevieve linked hers.
It was childish.
Small.
May you like
Simple.
And more binding than any billion-dollar contract I had ever signed.
