The Vanishing Heiress

Chapter 11

"What did you say?" Mr. Montgomery frowned slightly as he supported his wife.

The nurse, assuming he hadn't heard clearly, patiently repeated herself.

"Miss Montgomery has no health issues aside from the superficial wound on her neck. There's certainly no missing kidney, as this lady claimed. You can rest assured—once her injury is treated, she'll be ready to go home with you."

"How is that possible?"

Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery exchanged looks of confusion and shock.

Mrs. Montgomery was the first to recover. She gripped her husband's hand. "Darling, we can't tell Ethan about this. If he finds out, he'll confront Rachel immediately, and she can't handle any more stress right now."

Mr. Montgomery, still clinging to rationality, lowered his voice. "Have you considered this—if Rachel still has both kidneys, then who was the one who donated to Ethan all those years ago?"

In that instant, the same name flashed through both their minds.

The forgotten, neglected biological daughter.

—Megan Sullivan.

"No, that can't be," Mrs. Montgomery instinctively denied.

Mr. Montgomery, however, narrowed his eyes at the unconscious Rachel. For the first time, he wondered if he had ever truly understood the daughter he had doted on for twenty-five years.

By the time Rachel was wheeled into her hospital room, neither parent had spoken another word. Their exchanged glances betrayed their growing doubt.

Executive Office, Montgomery Group

Two hours earlier, Emily Montgomery had returned alone from the church to the company.

As the heir apparent of the Montgomery Group, uncovering the truth was effortless for her.

Her assistant worked efficiently. Within half an hour, the requested documents were printed and delivered.

Alongside medical reports and records that matched Megan's, the assistant had even obtained two video clips.

One showed Megan and Ethan Sterling entering the operating room for the kidney transplant.

The other captured Megan being beaten and tormented by other inmates in prison.

The footage was grainy, the angles poor—clearly just incidental surveillance footage.

Yet Emily's eyes burned with tears as she watched.

That was her own sister!

No matter how much she had disliked her as a child, no matter how poorly Megan had treated Rachel—she was still her flesh and blood, her own sister.

How could Megan have suffered like this in prison?

Who would dare lay a hand on a Montgomery?

Hadn't Ethan and their parents made arrangements with the prison?

And why did Megan look so frail and broken? Hadn't she and Ethan sent countless supplies to ensure her comfort?

Questions swirled in Emily's mind. She called her assistant back in.

"Dig deeper. Find out who authorized this abuse against a Montgomery. Who gave them the right?"

"Yes, Miss Montgomery."

The assistant nodded and left swiftly.

Once alone, Emily slumped into her chair, drained.

Megan—missing a kidney, crippled in one leg, her body marred by scars that never faded…

Emily squeezed her eyes shut.

The image of the storage room—Megan's home for twelve years—flashed in her mind.

After a long silence, she opened her eyes again.

Her gaze fell on the worn, cheap diary.

Suddenly, it felt like Pandora's box.

Inside might lie truths that could shatter everything she had believed all these years.

Just like the stack of medical reports before her.

Steeling herself, Emily finally turned to the first page.

"December 13, 2012. Sunny. I don't know why, but Mom, Dad, and my sisters don't seem happy that I'm home. Especially Rachel—the way she looks at me is strange. Maybe I'm overthinking it. I'll try harder to fit in. I'll be a good daughter, a good sister!"

Two hours later, Emily reached the final entry.

When she saw the full page written in flawless French, her composure shattered.

Megan knew French?

That meant every word spoken by their family—every cruel remark—she had understood perfectly.

Her hands trembled as she read the line: "From now on, you'll only have one sister."

A chilling realization struck her.

Megan hadn't left out of spite or for attention.

She had truly walked away—from a home where love was absent, where family was anything but.