My Great Escape Led Me to You (Emily Blair) novel Chapter 949

Emma George’s head snapped up, her face clouded with suspicion and disbelief as she stared at her.

Emily Blair closed her eyes slowly, letting the tangled emotions well up inside her. The feeling was impossible to name—bitterness, regret, a strange relief. It was all true. When too many coincidences pile up, they’re no longer coincidences.

Maybe it was because she’d been running herself ragged these past days, chasing down leads for Adelaide George and her lost child, only to come up empty-handed. Perhaps fate had grown tired of her struggle and simply dropped the truth in her lap, stringing together all these “coincidences” into a revelation.

Emily opened her eyes and looked directly at Emma. “So, Adelaide George is really your sister?” Her voice was steady, but her heart pounded. “She died twenty-four years ago, didn’t she?”

Emma’s eyes widened in surprise. “How do you know that?”

Instead of answering, Emily shot back, “Isn’t Adelaide’s child about the same age as me?”

Emma’s expression froze. She didn’t need to reply—her silence was answer enough.

Emily pressed on. “Do you know who Adelaide’s child’s real father is?”

Emma grew wary, lips pressed tight, refusing to answer.

Emily answered for her. “I know. The father was a wealthy businessman named Tate Vargas.”

“Tate Vargas?” Emma echoed, trying to place the name. “Isn’t that your teacher?”

Emily stood up. “Wait here. I’ll get the files.”

A few minutes later, Emily returned and laid out everything she’d uncovered about Adelaide George—documents, notes, letters—right in front of Emma.

Emma scooped up the stack, rifling through the papers. Shock flickered across her face. “You… When did you…”

Emily explained, “I’m Tate Vargas’s student. He has leukemia—late stage—and he’s been bedridden for months. He asked me to find his daughter, the one he lost so many years ago. He wants to make things right. He told me the girl’s mother was Adelaide George. After the baby was born, Adelaide left her at an orphanage. I went there, but no one matching her description was ever admitted. I don’t think the child ever made it there.”

Emma sat stiffly, fists clenched in the fabric of her skirt, anxiety written all over her.

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