Your real name is not Lena Carter.
The room suddenly felt colder.
She looked at the paper again.
Impossible.
Her entire life was built around that name.
Her birth certificate.
Her school records.
Everything.
But beneath the note was another document.
An old photograph.
A photograph of a young woman holding a baby.
On the back, written in faded ink, were six words.
“She deserves to know the truth.”
Lena stared at the photograph.
The woman in the picture looked familiar.
Not because Lena had seen her before.
Because she looked like Lena.
The same eyes.
The same smile.
The same small scar near her eyebrow.
A scar Lena had always believed came from a childhood accident.
Her breathing stopped.
A nurse knocked softly on the door.
“Lena?”
She quickly hid the photograph.
“Yes?”
“There’s someone here asking to see you.”
“Who?”
The nurse hesitated.
“Vincent Moretti.”
Lena looked toward the door.
