Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Signed My Babies Away
Emily had always believed her father was dead.
Lorraine had told her his name was Samuel Reed.
A construction worker.
Killed in an accident when Emily was eighteen months old.
There were photographs.
A marriage certificate.
Even a grave.
Now Lorraine sat inside Vincent’s SUV and admitted Samuel Reed had never existed.
“He was a name,” Lorraine said.
“A name for what?”
“A cover.”
Vincent sat across from them in the rear passenger compartment while his driver headed toward the abandoned St. Catherine’s Hospital.
“Start at the beginning,” he said.
Lorraine looked at Emily.
“Your biological father was Dominic Moretti.”
Emily stared at her.
“No.”
“I wish that weren’t true.”
“You said he paid for my birth.”
“He paid the hospital bills. He paid for everything.”
“You were with him?”
Lorraine shook her head.
“I was nineteen. I worked in a private club where he held meetings. He pursued me.”
Emily looked at Vincent.
His face revealed almost nothing.
Dominic had been his father’s younger brother.
Feared.
Brilliant.
Cruel.
Even Vincent had avoided him when possible.
Lorraine continued.
“When I became pregnant, Dominic wanted me to disappear. He was married. His wife came from another powerful family.”
“So he gave you money.”
“Yes.”
“And you invented Samuel Reed.”
“Yes.”
Emily turned toward the window.
Her reflection stared back.
Hazel eyes.
Dominic Moretti had hazel eyes.
She remembered old newspaper photographs now.
The resemblance made her sick.
Vincent said, “Did Dominic know about Emily’s triplets?”
Lorraine nodded.
“I called him.”
Emily spun back.
“You called him?”
“You had no insurance good enough for the specialist you needed. You were carrying three babies. I panicked.”
“And he helped?”
“At first.”
Emily laughed without humor.
“Then he stole them.”
Lorraine closed her eyes.
“I think so.”
“Why?”
“I never understood.”
Vincent did.
Or suspected.
Dominic believed blood mattered more than law.
If Emily was his daughter, then her children were Morettis.
Perhaps he believed he was reclaiming them for the family.
Perhaps Elena and Anthony had been convenient.
Or perhaps the babies were never meant for Elena.
That possibility bothered Vincent most.
The SUV turned through rusted gates.
St. Catherine’s rose ahead of them.
Dark brick.
Boarded windows.
No lights except one near a service entrance.
Vincent’s bodyguards exited first.
Emily followed despite Lorraine’s protests.
“You stay beside me,” Vincent said.
“I don’t take orders from you.”
“That wasn’t an order.”
“It sounded like one.”
“It was advice from someone who recognizes traps.”
Emily almost smiled.
Almost.
They entered through a side door.
Dust covered the corridor.
Old signs remained on the walls.
MATERNITY—LEVEL 3.
Emily’s heartbeat accelerated.
She had not returned since the births.
She thought she would collapse.
Instead she kept walking.
Vincent remained beside her.
They climbed three flights.
At the maternity wing, one door stood open.
Fresh footprints crossed the dust.
Vincent’s men moved ahead.
“Clear.”
The room beyond had once been a nurses’ station.
Someone had restored electricity to one outlet.
A desk lamp burned.
On the desk sat a cardboard box.
Emily approached.
Inside were hospital files.
Photographs.
Three newborn footprints.
She picked one up.
BABY A—MALE.
Another.
BABY B—FEMALE.
Another.
BABY C—MALE.
Her hands shook.
“These are mine.”
Vincent picked up a photograph.
Three premature infants lay inside separate incubators.
Alive.
Emily covered her mouth.
She had dreamed of seeing them for six years.
Now there they were.
Tiny.
Red-faced.
Breathing.
Her children had existed in this room.
Not as graves.
As babies.
Someone had known.
Vincent found a file.
“Emily.”
She looked.
ADOPTION TRANSFER AUTHORIZATION.
There was a signature at the bottom.
EMILY REED MITCHELL.
Emily stared.
“I never signed that.”
Lorraine moved closer.
“You signed papers after surgery.”
“Not adoption papers.”
Vincent examined the signature.
“It could have been copied.”
Emily turned pages.
Then stopped.
A witness signature.
LORRAINE REED.
She looked at her mother.
Lorraine swayed.
“No.”
“Your name.”
“I didn’t sign that.”
“You admitted you agreed.”
“I agreed to stay quiet. I did not sign away your children.”
Vincent examined the ink.
“Different pen.”
Emily frowned.
“What?”
“The witness signature is darker. Possibly added later.”
A sound came from the hallway.
Metal scraping.
One bodyguard raised his weapon.
“Stay here.”
Vincent moved toward the door.
Emily hated being told to stay.
But she remained beside the files.
Then she noticed something beneath the box.
A cassette recorder.
Old.
She pressed play.
Static.
A woman’s voice.
Young.
Frightened.
“This is Elena Moretti. I’m recording this because something is wrong.”
Vincent froze.
His sister.
The voice continued.
“Anthony brought home three babies tonight. He said their mother died. Uncle Dominic arranged the adoption.”
Emily gripped the table.
Elena continued.
“But I saw the paperwork. The mother’s name is Emily Reed Mitchell. I searched public records. She’s alive.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
The recording crackled.
“I confronted Anthony. He said Dominic told him Emily abandoned the children. I don’t believe it. I’m going to find her.”
Emily looked at Lorraine.
“The photograph.”
Lorraine nodded.
Elena’s voice softened.
“I met the grandmother today. She was terrified. She wouldn’t tell me everything. But she gave me Emily’s picture. I will show the children their mother’s face. If I can prove what happened, I will return them.”
Emily’s knees weakened.
Elena had tried.
The recording continued.
“Dominic cannot know I’m investigating. Anthony says I’m putting everyone in danger.”
Then a man’s voice entered faintly in the background.
“Elena?”
The recording stopped.
Vincent stared at the cassette.
His sister had died in a car crash four years later.
Maybe it had not been an accident.
Emily asked the question.
“Did Dominic kill her?”
Vincent’s voice was cold.
“If he did, death saved him from me.”
A floorboard creaked.
Vincent turned.
Too late.
The desk lamp went dark.
Emily heard Lorraine scream.
Glass shattered.
A shadow moved through the hall.
One bodyguard chased it.
Vincent grabbed Emily and pulled her behind the desk.
A gunshot cracked somewhere below.
Then silence.
“Are you hurt?” Vincent asked.
“No.”
Lorraine whispered, “Someone took the box.”
Emily looked.
Half the documents were gone.
The adoption file remained.
The newborn photographs remained.
But one red folder had disappeared.
“What was in it?” Vincent demanded.
Lorraine looked terrified.
“I saw the label.”
“What did it say?”
“Project Four.”
Emily frowned.
“There were three babies.”
Vincent stood.
“That’s why someone wanted it.”
They heard footsteps returning.
Vincent’s bodyguard appeared.
“He got away.”
“Vehicle?”
“Black sedan.”
“Plate?”
“Covered.”
Emily looked down.
Something white lay under the desk.
A photograph.
It must have fallen from the stolen folder.
She picked it up.
A newborn baby.
One baby.
Not one of the triplets.
The date on the back was two days after her delivery.
A handwritten label read:
CHILD FOUR—FEMALE.
Emily stared at it.
“Vincent.”
He took the photograph.
His face changed.
“What?”
“This hospital used a numbering system. ‘Child Four’ could be unrelated.”
But he did not sound convinced.
Emily flipped the photograph over again.
Another line appeared beneath the first.
MOTHER: E.R.M.
She stopped breathing.
“That’s my initials.”
Lorraine stumbled backward.
“No.”
Emily faced her.
“Was there another baby?”
“No.”
“Was I pregnant with four?”
“No.”
“Then what is this?”
Lorraine shook her head frantically.
“I don’t know.”
Vincent looked toward the corridor.
“We’re leaving.”
They gathered everything remaining.
In the SUV, Emily held the photograph.
A fourth baby.
Female.
Born two days after her triplets.
Impossible.
Unless the date had been falsified.
Unless the child belonged to someone else and her initials were an error.
Unless—
Emily remembered the little girl in the pink dress.
Vincent’s daughter.
Approximately the right age to be younger than the triplets.
“No.”
Vincent noticed her expression.
“What?”
“How old is your daughter?”
“Five.”
Emily’s pulse slowed.
Too young.
Relief arrived.
Then Vincent added, “She was adopted.”
Emily looked at him.
He went still.
“Vincent.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“Where was she born?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who arranged the adoption?”
His silence answered.
Emily whispered, “Elena?”
“No.”
“Anthony?”
“No.”
“Dominic?”
Vincent looked at the photograph again.
“Yes.”
Emily’s stomach turned.
Lorraine covered her mouth.
Vincent called his housekeeper.
“Teresa. Bring Sofia to Dr. Hamilton’s clinic.”
Emily looked at him.
“Sofia.”
“My daughter.”
“You said she was yours.”
“She is.”
“I know. I mean biologically.”
Vincent’s eyes hardened.
“I never cared.”
Emily understood.
He loved the child.
Whatever the DNA said would not change that.
But the truth could.
They arrived at the private clinic after dark.
The triplets were already there with Sofia.
The moment Emily entered, Marco shouted.
“Mama!”
Sofia smiled too.
Emily crouched.
The triplets wrapped their small arms around her.
For the first time, she let herself hold them.
All three.
Awkwardly.
Desperately.
She cried into their curls.
Vincent turned away to give her privacy.
A nurse collected DNA swabs.
Emily.
The triplets.
Sofia.
Vincent.
Results would take several hours with expedited testing.
Emily sat beside the children while they slept.
Marco curled against her.
Isabella held her finger.
Luca rested his cheek on her knee.
Vincent stood near the window.
“You should sleep.”
“So should you.”
“I don’t.”
“That sounds unhealthy.”
He almost smiled.
She looked at him.
“Why did Dominic give you Sofia?”
“He didn’t.”
“Then?”
“She was found after Dominic died.”
“Where?”
“At one of his properties.”
Emily’s blood chilled.
“A baby?”
“About eighteen months old.”
“Alone?”
“With a caretaker who disappeared before police arrived.”
Emily looked at sleeping Sofia.
“How did you become her father?”
Vincent’s voice softened.
“She grabbed my tie.”
Emily smiled faintly.
“That was enough?”
“For me.”
She understood more than she expected.
Sometimes parenthood began in one second.
A hand.
A look.
A word.
Mama.
The clinic door opened.
The doctor entered holding an envelope.
Vincent stood.
Emily carefully moved Marco onto the couch.
Dr. Hamilton looked unsettled.
“I have the preliminary results.”
Emily gripped the chair.
“The triplets?”
He nodded.
“All three are Emily’s biological children.”
The world disappeared.
She closed her eyes.
A sound left her chest.
Half laugh.
Half sob.
Vincent looked at the sleeping children.
His face softened.
Emily cried silently.
They were hers.
Alive.
Her babies had been alive all along.
Then she remembered Sofia.
“And her?”
Dr. Hamilton hesitated.
“The results are unusual.”
Vincent stepped forward.
“Say it.”
“Sofia is also biologically related to Emily.”
Emily’s hand flew to her mouth.
“How?”
“She is not your daughter.”
Relief and confusion collided.
“Then what?”
Dr. Hamilton looked from Emily to Vincent.
“She’s your half-sister.”
Emily froze.
Vincent froze.
Lorraine, standing near the doorway, whispered one word.
“Dominic.”
The doctor continued.
“Sofia appears to be Dominic Moretti’s biological daughter.”
Emily stared at the sleeping five-year-old.
Her sister.
Not daughter.
Sister.
Vincent’s phone rang.
One of his men answered from the hallway and rushed in.
“Boss.”
Vincent turned.
“We found Curtis.”
Emily stood.
“Where?”
“At your uncle Dominic’s old river house.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“He’s not alone.”
“Who’s with him?”
The bodyguard swallowed.
“Dr. Warren Pike.”
Emily’s blood ran cold.
The doctor who told her the babies were dead.
The man she had believed vanished years ago.
Vincent grabbed his coat.
Then the bodyguard added, “There’s one more person.”
Emily looked at him.
“Who?”
He held out a live security image.
A gray-haired man sat between Curtis and Dr. Pike.
Emily had seen his photograph on a tombstone.
May you like
Dominic Moretti looked straight into the camera.
The dead man was alive.
