Chapter 2 - The Death Certificates
Lorraine Reed stopped inside the doorway when she saw the stroller.
For one terrible moment, her expression gave Emily the answer before anyone spoke.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
The three triplets looked at Lorraine.
None reached for her.
Emily stood slowly.
“Mom.”
Lorraine clutched the papers against her chest.
“What have you done?”
Emily almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the question was impossible.
“What have I done?”
Lorraine looked toward Vincent.
Her face blanched.
“You.”
Vincent remained beside the stroller.
“You know who I am?”
“Everyone does.”
“Then you understand I don’t enjoy being lied to.”
Lorraine’s gaze moved to the children again.
Her lower lip trembled.
Emily stepped between them.
“Tell me they’re not mine.”
Lorraine said nothing.
“Tell me.”
“Emily—”
“Say it.”
Curtis remained seated under the bodyguard’s watch.
His face looked gray.
Lorraine’s eyes filled.
“That isn’t something we should discuss here.”
Emily’s voice broke.
“Then they are mine.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Marco reached toward Emily again.
“Mama.”
Lorraine shut her eyes.
That tiny word broke whatever strength remained in her.
She sank into a chair.
Emily stared at her mother, trying to reconcile the woman in front of her with the woman who had held her hand through childhood fevers, who had sewn patches into her school backpack, who had cried beside her hospital bed seven years earlier.
“You buried empty caskets?”
Lorraine whispered, “Yes.”
The diner seemed to tilt.
Emily gripped the edge of a booth.
Vincent stepped closer but did not touch her.
“Why?”
Lorraine looked at Curtis.
Curtis looked away.
Emily’s voice sharpened.
“Don’t look at him. Look at me.”
Lorraine raised her head.
“You were dying.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
“You lost so much blood. The doctors said your heart stopped twice.”
“I know that.”
“And then…”
Lorraine swallowed.
“Then Dr. Pike said the babies had complications.”
Emily laughed once.
A broken sound.
“He told me they died.”
Lorraine covered her face.
“They didn’t.”
Emily’s knees weakened.
Vincent caught her elbow.
She pulled free instinctively.
Not because she blamed him.
Because she needed to stand on her own.
“They were alive?”
“Yes.”
“All three?”
“Yes.”
“Were they healthy?”
Lorraine hesitated.
“Small. Very small. But alive.”
Emily looked toward the stroller.
Six years of birthdays she had missed.
First steps.
First words.
Nightmares.
Fevers.
Christmas mornings.
Everything.
“Why would you let me think they were dead?”
Lorraine began crying.
“I thought I was saving you.”
Emily stared at her.
“From what?”
Lorraine looked at Vincent.
“From people like him.”
Vincent’s expression did not move.
Emily said, “What does he have to do with this?”
“Nothing directly.”
“Then explain.”
Lorraine unfolded one of the papers.
The death certificate had Emily’s name.
Baby Boy Mitchell.
Time of death.
2:14 a.m.
Emily had stared at that document hundreds of times.
Lorraine placed another beside it.
Baby Girl Mitchell.
Then the third.
All signed by Warren Pike, M.D.
“All fake,” Lorraine whispered.
Emily touched the edge of the paper.
“How?”
“Dr. Pike had debts.”
Vincent said, “Gambling?”
Lorraine nodded.
“He owed people money. Dangerous people.”
“Which people?”
“I never knew.”
Vincent’s bodyguard spoke from behind him.
“We can find out.”
Lorraine looked frightened.
Vincent ignored it.
“What happened after the delivery?”
Lorraine inhaled shakily.
“Dr. Pike told me somebody wanted the babies.”
Emily felt sick.
“Somebody?”
“He said there was a private adoption arrangement. A wealthy woman couldn’t have children. She was willing to pay enough to clear his debts.”
“You sold my children?”
“No!”
Lorraine stood.
“I didn’t take money.”
“Then why did you agree?”
“I didn’t at first.”
“Then what changed?”
Lorraine’s eyes flickered toward Curtis.
Emily followed the look.
Curtis whispered, “Don’t.”
Lorraine’s face twisted.
“You threatened me.”
Curtis shot to his feet.
“That’s a lie.”
The bodyguard pushed him back into the chair.
Emily stared.
“What did he threaten?”
Lorraine lowered her voice.
“Your life.”
Emily went cold.
“Explain.”
“Curtis said the people behind Dr. Pike would kill you if I interfered. He said you had accidentally heard something while drugged after surgery.”
Emily frowned.
“What?”
“You kept repeating a name.”
“What name?”
Lorraine glanced at Vincent.
“Moretti.”
Vincent’s expression changed.
Emily shook her head.
“I didn’t know any Moretti.”
“Apparently you heard Dr. Pike arguing with someone while you were coming out of anesthesia.”
Vincent’s gaze sharpened.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
Curtis muttered, “This is insane.”
Vincent turned toward him.
“You’ve said that three times. Each time, another lie appears.”
Curtis stopped talking.
Emily struggled to remember.
Hospital lights.
A mask.
Cold hands.
Voices.
She had flashes.
A man saying, “She wasn’t supposed to wake up.”
Another saying, “Move the babies before Moretti gets here.”
Moretti.
The memory struck like lightning.
Emily gasped.
Vincent noticed.
“What?”
“I remember something.”
Everyone stared.
“Someone said your name.”
“My name?”
“No. Just Moretti.”
Vincent’s face darkened.
Six years earlier his sister Elena had been married to Anthony Moretti, Vincent’s cousin.
Anthony and Elena had tried unsuccessfully to have children for years.
Then, suddenly, Elena had arrived home with newborn triplets.
She claimed the adoption was legal.
Anthony had confirmed it.
Vincent had never questioned them.
Why would he?
Elena had adored the babies.
She had given them a beautiful life.
Then two years later Anthony died of a heart attack.
Elena raised the children alone until a car crash took her life the previous winter.
Vincent became their guardian.
Now he understood why there had always been gaps in the adoption paperwork.
He had blamed Elena’s attorney.
Perhaps Elena herself had never known.
He looked at Lorraine.
“Was the woman named Elena?”
Lorraine shook her head.
“I never heard the adopter’s name.”
Emily whispered, “Did she know they were stolen?”
“I don’t know.”
Lorraine looked toward the children.
“I pray she didn’t.”
Vincent said quietly, “She wouldn’t have.”
It was the first defense he had offered of his sister.
Emily looked at him.
“You’re sure?”
“Elena would have burned the building down before taking children from their mother.”
There was enough grief in his voice that Emily believed him.
For the moment.
She turned back to Lorraine.
“Why didn’t you tell me later?”
Lorraine cried harder.
“Every year I tried.”
“You had six years.”
“I was afraid.”
“Of Curtis?”
“Of everyone.”
Emily laughed bitterly.
“I spent six years visiting three graves.”
“I know.”
“You came with me.”
“I know.”
“You put flowers on empty dirt.”
“I know.”
Emily stepped back.
“Stop saying you know.”
Lorraine covered her mouth.
The three children had become unusually quiet.
Isabella watched Emily.
Luca sucked his thumb.
Marco clutched the stroller bar.
Emily forced herself to calm down.
They did not need fear.
They did not understand any of this.
She crouched beside them.
“Hey.”
Marco smiled.
“Mama.”
Emily’s heart fractured again.
She touched his cheek.
“I don’t know what you’ve been told, sweetheart.”
He leaned into her palm.
Vincent watched.
“How could they recognize you?” he asked.
Emily looked at him.
“They couldn’t. They were newborns.”
“Then why Mama?”
No one had an answer.
Until Lorraine whispered, “The photograph.”
Emily turned.
“What photograph?”
Lorraine’s eyes widened as if she had said too much.
Vincent stepped closer.
“What photograph?”
Lorraine wiped her face.
“When Emily was pregnant, she had maternity pictures taken.”
“So?”
“I kept one.”
Emily frowned.
“I thought you threw them away.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Where is it?”
Lorraine stared at the triplets.
“I gave it to someone.”
Emily stood.
“To who?”
Lorraine looked at Vincent.
“To Elena Moretti.”
Silence.
Vincent’s voice became dangerous.
“You knew my sister?”
“Only once.”
“When?”
“About two years after the births.”
Emily’s mouth went dry.
“You met the woman raising my children?”
“Yes.”
“And said nothing?”
“I wanted to see if they were safe.”
Emily nearly lost control.
“You saw them?”
“Yes.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“And you came home and let me cry over graves?”
Lorraine had no defense.
Emily turned away.
Her hands shook so badly she tucked them beneath her arms.
Vincent said, “Tell me about the meeting.”
Lorraine explained.
She had tracked the children through an old contact at the hospital.
Elena agreed to meet because Lorraine claimed to be a distant biological relative.
Lorraine never told Elena the truth.
But she gave Elena the pregnancy photograph.
“I told her the woman in the picture was their birth mother.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“What did Elena say?”
“She cried.”
Lorraine looked down.
“She said the children deserved to know where they came from someday.”
Vincent pulled out his phone.
He called his housekeeper.
“Teresa. Go into Elena’s old study.”
He listened.
“Find the blue cedar box on the upper shelf.”
A pause.
“Yes.”
Another pause.
His expression shifted.
“What?”
Emily watched him.
Vincent slowly lowered the phone.
“What did she find?”
“A photograph.”
Emily could barely speak.
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
Vincent looked at the children.
“Apparently Elena showed it to them every night.”
Emily’s breath caught.
“She told them the woman was their first mama.”
Marco smiled at Emily.
“Mama.”
Now they understood.
Not instinct.
Not magic.
Elena.
A dead woman Emily had never met had somehow kept her face alive in her children’s memories.
Emily closed her eyes.
For the first time that day, the tears came without anger.
“She knew.”
Vincent nodded.
“She knew enough to want them to remember you.”
“Did she know I was alive?”
“I don’t know.”
“Find out.”
“I will.”
Curtis laughed nervously from the chair.
“You’re all building a fantasy around three kids recognizing a photograph.”
Vincent turned.
“We’ll get DNA.”
Curtis’s smile vanished.
Lorraine looked at Emily.
“There’s something else.”
Emily did not want another truth.
But she said, “What?”
“Dr. Pike wasn’t the one who arranged everything.”
“Who was?”
Lorraine’s hands twisted around the false death certificates.
“I never knew his real name.”
Vincent asked, “What did he look like?”
“Older. Maybe fifty then. Gray hair. Expensive suit.”
“That describes half the men in organized crime.”
“He wore a ring.”
Vincent went still.
“What kind?”
“Black stone. Gold crest.”
One of the bodyguards looked at Vincent.
Emily noticed.
“What?”
Vincent did not answer.
“Vincent.”
He looked at Lorraine.
“Describe the crest.”
“A bird.”
“What bird?”
Lorraine hesitated.
“An eagle, maybe.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
His family had an old insignia.
A black onyx ring.
A gold eagle.
Only three men had worn it.
His grandfather.
His father.
And his uncle Dominic.
Dominic Moretti had been dead for four years.
At least officially.
Vincent walked toward the window.
Emily followed.
“You know the ring.”
“Yes.”
“Who wore it?”
“My uncle.”
“Did he arrange the adoption?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was Elena his daughter?”
“No. Niece.”
“Then why would he steal children for her?”
Vincent turned.
“That’s what I intend to find out.”
His phone rang.
He checked the screen.
Unknown number.
He answered.
No greeting.
A voice spoke.
Vincent’s expression became stone.
Then he handed the phone to Emily.
“Someone wants you.”
Emily took it.
“Hello?”
A man’s voice whispered.
“You should have stayed dead to those children.”
Emily’s blood turned cold.
“Who is this?”
“You already buried them once.”
The call disconnected.
Emily stared at the phone.
Vincent took it back.
His bodyguard was already tracing the number.
Curtis suddenly lunged from the chair.
Not toward the exit.
Toward Lorraine.
He grabbed the death certificates.
Vincent’s man tackled him.
Papers scattered across the diner floor.
One slid beneath Emily’s shoe.
She bent to pick it up.
It was not one of the death certificates.
It had been folded inside them.
An old hospital discharge form.
Her name appeared at the top.
But the emergency contact section did not list Lorraine.
It listed someone else.
DOMINIC MORETTI.
Emily looked at Vincent.
He stared at the name.
“That’s impossible.”
Lorraine made a strangled sound.
Emily turned toward her.
“Why was his name on my medical paperwork?”
Lorraine’s face collapsed.
“I never wanted you to find that.”
Emily’s voice went quiet.
“Find what?”
Lorraine whispered, “The truth about your father.”
Before Emily could respond, Vincent’s bodyguard looked up from his phone.
“We traced the call.”
Vincent turned.
“Where?”
The man’s expression tightened.
“St. Catherine’s Hospital.”
Emily stopped breathing.
That hospital had closed five years ago.
The maternity wing had been sealed ever since.
Vincent grabbed his coat.
Emily followed him toward the door.
Behind them, Lorraine shouted her name.
Emily turned once.
Her mother stood surrounded by false death certificates.
Then Lorraine said the words Emily had feared without ever knowing why.
“Dominic Moretti wasn’t just involved in your babies’ disappearance.”
May you like
She swallowed.
“He was the man who paid for your birth.”
