Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN IN THE RECORD
I didn't sleep.
I sat on the nursery floor until sunrise.
Noah slept beside me.
Every few minutes I touched his chest just to make sure he was breathing.
My entire life had been built on a lie.
At least, that's what Daniel was claiming.
I didn't know what to believe anymore.
At six thirty in the morning, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman's voice whispered,
“Don't trust Daniel.”
I froze.
“Who is this?”
“You found the documents.”
My heart raced.
“How do you know?”
“I've been watching the house.”
I stood.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Rebecca.”
“Rebecca what?”
She hesitated.
“Rebecca Whitmore.”
The surname hit me like a physical blow.
Whitmore.
The name on the birth certificate.
“Are you related to Claire?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Silence.
Then:
“She was my sister.”
I gripped the edge of the crib.
“What happened to her?”
“That's what I've spent twenty-eight years trying to find out.”
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
“You said she disappeared.”
“She did.”
“Why?”
Rebecca exhaled.
“Because your mother was involved.”
My blood went cold.
“You mean the woman who raised me?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“I know this is difficult.”
“You don't know anything about me.”
“I know your mother changed your birth records.”
“How?”
“She paid someone.”
“For what?”
“To make Claire disappear from the official record.”
I stared at Noah.
“Why?”
Rebecca's voice became quieter.
“Because Claire had evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“She discovered a trafficking operation.”
I couldn't speak.
“Baby trafficking?”
“Yes.”
My stomach turned.
“No.”
“Claire was a nurse at the hospital where you were born.”
I froze.
Rebecca continued.
“She discovered that several newborns were being transferred under false identities.”
My hands began to shake.
“And me?”
“You were one of them.”
“No.”
“You were supposed to disappear too.”
I sank onto the chair.
“No.”
“Claire refused.”
“What happened to her?”
“We don't know.”
A floorboard creaked behind me.
I turned.
Daniel stood in the doorway.
I dropped the phone.
He stared at me.
“Who were you talking to?”
I didn't answer.
He stepped inside.
“Emma?”
I backed away.
“Did your mother steal me?”
His face changed.
That was all the answer I needed.
“You knew.”
“No.”
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
“Since when?”
“Since before we got married.”
My chest tightened.
“You married me knowing my identity might be fake?”
“I loved you.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“You protected me by lying?”
“I didn't know who to trust!”
“Not even me?”
He looked devastated.
Then he said something that made the room go silent.
“Especially not you.”
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
He reached into his pocket.
Pulled out his phone.
Opened a message.
Turned the screen toward me.
It was a photograph of Claire.
A young woman.
Dark hair.
Blue eyes.
A tiny scar above her eyebrow.
I stared.
The scar.
I had the same one.
A childhood scar my mother always said came from falling off a bicycle.
I touched my eyebrow.
“No.”
Daniel whispered,
“That's your biological mother.”
My phone rang again.
Rebecca.
This time I answered on speaker.
Her voice came through.
“Emma, listen carefully.”
Daniel moved toward the phone.
“Who is this?”
Rebecca went silent.
Then she said,
“Daniel Carter?”
He froze.
“How do you know my name?”
“Because your father was part of it too.”
Daniel's face drained of color.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your father helped cover up the transfers.”
Daniel stepped backward.
“No.”
“He worked in hospital administration.”
“No.”
“He signed the authorization forms.”
“No.”
Rebecca continued.
“And Claire caught him.”
Daniel sat down.
I looked at him.
“My God.”
Rebecca whispered,
“That is why she disappeared.”
I closed my eyes.
The pieces were beginning to fit.
My biological mother.
Daniel's father.
His mother.
The stolen DNA.
The laboratory.
The old records.
But one question remained.
“Rebecca.”
“Yes?”
“Why is his mother testing my baby?”
Rebecca hesitated.
Then she said:
“Because Noah may have inherited something Claire had.”
“What?”
“A genetic marker.”
“What marker?”
“The same marker Claire used to prove the babies were being moved.”
Daniel looked at me.
Rebecca continued.
“And if Noah has it, they know the truth can be proven.”
My phone buzzed.
A message.
Same unknown number.
A photograph.
This time it showed a laboratory report.
At the bottom was a handwritten note:
May you like
THE BABY IS NOT THE TARGET.
THE MOTHER IS.
