Chapter 6 - The Child They Took
I couldn't breathe.
Three years earlier, I had awakened in a hospital room with Damian holding my hand.
The doctor told me there had been complications.
The baby was gone.
I had been eleven weeks pregnant.
Or so I believed.
Marco placed the bracelet on the table.
"This isn't from three years ago."
I looked at him.
"Then what is it?"
"Eight years ago."
Before Damian.
Before my marriage.
Before any pregnancy I remembered.
"That doesn't make sense."
Marco sat beside me.
"When you were twenty-three, you were in a car accident."
I remembered that.
Barely.
I had spent several days in the hospital.
"There were complications."
"What complications?"
"You were pregnant."
The room became silent.
"No."
"You didn't know."
"Who was the father?"
"Eric."
My college boyfriend.
He had died in the accident.
My hands went cold.
"The doctors told us you lost the pregnancy."
"Then what is this?"
Marco looked toward the bracelet.
"Two weeks ago, Gabriel found hospital records showing the pregnancy was much further along than we were told."
"How far?"
"Twenty-eight weeks."
I stood so fast the chair fell.
"No."
My memories came in fragments.
The accident.
Glass.
Sirens.
My mother crying.
Weeks of recovery.
Doctors telling me trauma could affect memory.
"Why don't I remember being pregnant?"
"You were hiding it."
"From whom?"
"Dad."
That sounded possible.
At twenty-three, I had been terrified of disappointing him.
Marco continued.
"We found evidence a baby was delivered by emergency C-section."
My knees weakened.
"A baby?"
"A girl."
I stared at him.
"She died?"
"We don't know."
The words tore through me.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered immediately.
Patricia.
"Now you understand."
"Where is she?"
A laugh.
"Straight to the important question."
"Where is my daughter?"
My brothers froze.
Damian appeared in the doorway.
He heard.
His face changed.
Patricia continued.
"Your father thought his ledger protected everyone. He was wrong."
"What did you do with my baby?"
"I didn't take her."
"Who did?"
"Your mother."
I closed my eyes.
"You're lying."
"Ask Marco why your mother made him promise never to tell you."
I looked at my brother.
He couldn't meet my eyes.
That was answer enough.
"Marco?"
His voice broke.
"Mom told us the baby died."
"But you doubted her."
"Only recently."
Patricia laughed through the phone.
"Your mother understood something Salvatore never did. A child connected to you could become leverage."
"So she hid her?"
"Perhaps."
"Where?"
"Your father knew."
"My father is dead."
"But his records aren't."
The call ended.
For the next six hours, my brothers searched.
Aaron searched.
Federal investigators searched.
Then Gabriel found a birth record.
Baby Girl Romano.
Transferred twenty-four hours after delivery.
Destination sealed.
But another document contained a physician's signature.
Dr. Samuel Hart.
Vanessa's father.
I stared at her.
Vanessa had remained with investigators since the warehouse.
She looked as shocked as I felt.
"My father?"
"You knew nothing?"
"He died four years ago."
"Did he ever mention me?"
"No."
Then she stopped.
"What?"
Vanessa's face drained.
"There was a girl."
"Who?"
"My father sponsored a child through a private guardianship organization."
My heart hammered.
"Name."
"I don't know her original name."
"What did they call her?"
"Sophie."
"How old?"
Vanessa calculated.
"Seven or eight when I first met her. She'd be twenty-three now."
Exactly.
"Where is she?"
"I haven't seen her in years."
Gabriel searched the guardianship records.
The organization had closed.
But one address remained.
A small house two hours away.
We drove there.
An elderly woman answered.
Her name was Margaret Hale.
When I showed her the photograph of Dr. Hart, she began crying.
"You're Elena."
I almost fell.
"You know me?"
"I promised your mother."
"Where is Sophie?"
Margaret covered her mouth.
"She always knew someone would come."
"Please."
She disappeared upstairs.
Returned with a photograph.
A young woman stood beside the ocean.
Dark hair.
Green eyes.
My eyes.
I touched the photograph.
"She's alive."
"Yes."
The world cracked open.
"Where?"
Margaret shook her head.
"She left last month."
"Why?"
"Someone contacted her."
"Who?"
"She wouldn't tell me."
Margaret handed me an envelope.
My mother had written my name on it.
Inside:
Elena,
If this day comes, forgive me.
Your father had enemies who would have used your daughter to control you. We told everyone she died. We gave her a new identity.
I intended to tell you when it became safe.
It never became safe.
My hands shook.
There was one final sentence.
Her name is Sofia.
She knows who you are.
I cried then.
Not because Damian had humiliated me.
Not because Patricia had manipulated my marriage.
Not because my family had lied.
I cried because somewhere in the world was a daughter who had grown up without me.
Marco held me.
For once, I let him.
Then Margaret's phone rang.
She answered.
Her expression changed.
"Sofia?"
I grabbed her hand.
"Put it on speaker."
A young woman's voice came through.
"Margaret?"
"Sofia, Elena is here."
Silence.
Then breathing.
"Mom?"
One word.
My knees nearly gave out.
"Sofia."
A sob came through the phone.
"I've wanted to call you for years."
"Where are you?"
Another silence.
Then she whispered:
"I'm with Patricia Cole."
Every man in the room froze.
"Sofia, listen to me."
"I can't talk long."
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Where are you?"
"I found something she wanted me to see."
"What?"
"Grandpa's final ledger."
Marco stepped forward.
"Sofia, get away from Patricia."
"I can't."
"Why?"
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Because she's not alone."
A door opened on Sofia's end.
Footsteps approached.
Then Patricia's voice sounded in the distance.
"Sofia?"
My daughter whispered:
"Mom, she's coming."
The line went dead.
A second later, a location pin appeared on my phone.
I recognized the address.
So did Damian.
It was the mansion where our marriage had begun.
May you like
The Cole family estate.
And the front door was already open.
