A/n's: Hey, guys, I would've updated this sooner, but I was up north with my family all weekend. Oh, and I'm sorry how short the actual chapter is this time, but I've decided to do something smart for a change. Ya know how when you go to see a movie they have all those previews for other movies first? Well, that's what I'm doing. See, while I was spending my weekend with my family I had a brainstorm for a new story, and I'm gonna give ya'll a little preview. If it's well received and you guys want more, then I'll go ahead and make an all new fic, if not, then I won't bother.
~Coming Soon (?)~
The Other Daughter
(*title is subject to change*)
The two women looked a bit alike. They shared about the same height, the same mane of dark brown hair, the same intelligent gleam brightened thier gazes. Yet, dispite all their similarities, they couldn't have been more different.
One was young, still several years out of her prime...the other was old, nearing life's end. The Grim Reaper had conspired to bring them together where everything else had failed.
"What do you want, Brenda?" asked the younger as she stood at the foot of the elder's hospital bed.
"You are my daughter, Dee. I wanted to see you."
"Wrong," Dee bit out bitterly. "For if I were your daughter, that would mean you're my mother and real mothers don't abandon their children. Now, as I said, what do you want?"
A sigh. This hostility had been expected, and it was deserved. "I am dying, Dee. And when one sees their end, they want to go knowing they have made amends. We've kept something from you, your father...Richard and I, and it's far time you knew."
It was one of those moments, and were only one or two at best, where an entire life changes. Whatever happened from now on, Dee would look back and effortlessly determine the point at which the life she had once lived became the life she could never go back to, and it was at that moment when her biological mother looked up at her and continued with her confession.
"Richard Thompson is not your real father."
Chapter Tweleve
Late Autumn was unexpectedly mild. Mint had flowered into a riot of mellow colors that mirrored Sharni's feelings. Mark was spending much of his time on the island, supervisiong the installion of equipment that turned the Castle into a modern communications center under its weathered exterior.
The airstrip was completed quickly, and by mid-November there was daily flights to the mainland. Mark's own Learjet was flown in by a young pilot whem Sharni immediately liked. He confided to her that he spent much of his time feeling useless, though, as Mark liked to fly the plane himself.
The hospital site had been cleared, and all the machinery and materials moved in. Digging started on the foundations. With luck, and the kind of speedy work Mark seemed able to command, she could hope for the hospital to be ready by the following spring.