PART 3 — THE BABY WE WERE TOLD WE LOST
“They’re checking whether you know what happened to your first baby.”
For several seconds, nobody moved.
I stared at Dr. Brennan.
“What do you mean, what happened?”
He looked toward the locked door.
Then back at me.
“Ethan, lower your voice.”
“No.”
Lila reached for my wrist.
“Ethan…”
I turned to her.
“You heard him.”
Her face was pale.
She looked just as frightened as I felt.
I faced Dr. Brennan again.
“We lost our first baby.”
“That’s what we were told.”
The sentence hit harder the second time.
“Stop saying things like that unless you’re prepared to explain them.”
“I will.”
“Now.”
Dr. Brennan hesitated.
Then he pulled a chair closer.
“You both used Bellmere Fertility Center before Lila’s first pregnancy.”
I nodded.
“We went there because we’d been trying for over a year.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“I told you.”
“I rotated there.”
“Then start at the beginning.”
He looked at Lila.
“Do you remember Dr. Halpern?”
Lila nodded slowly.
“Of course.”
I remembered him too.
Mid-fifties.
Gray hair.
Soft voice.
The kind of doctor who always made you feel as if he had more time than he actually did.
He had been the first person to tell us there was still hope.
“There are several options,” he’d said.
“Nothing about your case tells me you can’t become parents.”
At the time, those words had felt like salvation.
Now they sounded different.
“What about him?”
I asked.
“He ran the clinic.”
“I know.”
“Not officially.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“The company on paper belonged to a medical investment group.”
“What group?”
“Westbridge Reproductive Holdings.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Most patients hadn’t.”
Lila looked at him.
“What are you trying to tell us?”
Dr. Brennan folded his hands.
“Bellmere wasn’t only a fertility clinic.”
I stared at him.
“What else was it?”
“A research site.”
“For what?”
“Embryonic genetics.”
My stomach tightened.
Lila whispered:
“Human trials?”
“Some of the work was approved.”
“And the rest?”
Dr. Brennan didn’t answer quickly enough.
My anger returned.
“The rest?”
“Wasn’t.”
Lila covered her mouth.
I looked between them.
“What kind of unapproved work?”
“Embryo screening beyond what patients consented to.”
“Genetic comparisons.”
“Sample transfers.”
“Experimental preservation techniques.”
I stared at him.
“Sample transfers?”
He nodded.
“What does that mean?”
“It means biological material was sometimes moved between case files.”
“Accidentally?”
Dr. Brennan looked at me.
“Sometimes.”
That one word chilled me.
“And other times?”
“Deliberately.”
The room seemed to become smaller.
Lila whispered:
“Why?”
“To conceal errors.”
“To preserve research.”
“To satisfy donors.”
“To protect the clinic.”
“Donors?”
I said.
“Financial donors.”
“Not sperm donors.”
He nodded.
“People with money funded parts of the research.”
I leaned forward.
“And Mara?”
Lila looked at him sharply.
“What did my sister have to do with any of this?”
Dr. Brennan reached for the old photograph again.
“Mara came to Bellmere before you did.”
“Why?”
“She was trying to become pregnant.”
Lila shook her head.
“No.”
“She never told me that.”
“I don’t know what she told you.”
“Was she married?”
“No.”
“Then whose child was she trying to have?”
Dr. Brennan hesitated.
“That’s where the records become complicated.”
I felt a sick sensation in my stomach.
“Complicated how?”
“Her file listed multiple donor profiles.”
Lila frowned.
“Why would she have multiple?”
“She shouldn’t have.”
“What happened?”
Dr. Brennan looked at me.
“Your name appears in one of them.”
I stood.
“No.”
Lila stared at me.
Then him.
“What?”
“I never donated anything to that clinic.”
“I know.”
“Then why is my name in her file?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
“I expect you to believe that someone used your medical profile without your knowledge.”
My chest tightened.
“What medical profile?”
“The genetic testing you completed after your sports injury.”
I remembered what he’d told me earlier.
A clinic.
Forms.
Bloodwork.
That summer.
“You’re saying someone had my DNA before I ever met Lila?”
“Yes.”
Lila looked at me.
“Ethan…”
I couldn’t look at her.
“What does this have to do with our first pregnancy?”
Dr. Brennan opened another page.
“Your first pregnancy was not natural conception.”
“Yes, it was.”
Lila said it immediately.
“We stopped fertility treatment months before.”
“I remember.”
Dr. Brennan nodded.
“But according to your file, an embryo transfer was recorded six weeks before you tested positive.”
Lila stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
“We didn’t have an embryo transfer.”
“I know.”
“Then the record is false.”
“Possibly.”
“Possibly?”
Lila’s voice rose.
“Either someone transferred an embryo into me or they didn’t.”
Dr. Brennan looked uncomfortable.
“Do you remember a minor procedure for an ovarian cyst?”
Lila froze.
I remembered.
She’d gone in for what we were told was a simple outpatient procedure.
Two hours.
Home the same day.
I had picked her up afterward.
“You think something happened during that procedure?”
I asked.
“I don’t know.”
Lila shook her head.
“No.”
“I was sedated.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“They told me they were removing a cyst.”
I took her hand.
Dr. Brennan said quietly:
“That is the date listed beside the transfer.”
I felt my pulse pounding in my ears.
“You think somebody implanted an embryo without telling her.”
“I’m saying the record suggests it.”
Lila whispered:
“Whose embryo?”
Dr. Brennan didn’t answer.
She looked at him harder.
“Whose?”
He slid another document across the table.
Two names had been blacked out.
But a code remained.
M-47 / H-12.
“What is that?”
I asked.
“Patient identifiers.”
“Who is M-47?”
Dr. Brennan looked at Lila.
“Mara.”
Lila stopped breathing.
“And H-12?”
I asked.
His eyes moved to me.
“You.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
Lila pulled her hand away from mine.
Not because she was angry.
Because she was shocked.
“Are you saying our first baby…”
Her voice broke.
Dr. Brennan answered carefully.
“I’m saying the embryo record lists genetic material associated with Mara and Ethan.”
The room went silent.
Lila whispered:
“My sister and my husband.”
“No.”
I said it immediately.
“No.”
“I never—”
“I know.”
Lila looked at me.
I could see that she believed me.
That almost made it worse.
Dr. Brennan continued.
“If the record is accurate, neither of you knowingly consented.”
I stood and paced toward the wall.
My mind couldn’t hold it.
Mara.
My DNA.
Lila carrying a pregnancy that may not have genetically been hers.
“What happened to that pregnancy?”
I asked.
Dr. Brennan looked down.
“That’s the problem.”
“What problem?”
“The official chart says miscarriage.”
“I know.”
“At eleven weeks.”
“I know.”
“But an internal lab log shows viable fetal cardiac activity two days after the date your miscarriage was recorded.”
I turned.
“What?”
Lila stared at him.
“That can’t be possible.”
“I agree.”
“So the log is wrong.”
“Maybe.”
“Or?”
Dr. Brennan hesitated.
“Or the pregnancy recorded as lost wasn’t the pregnancy being monitored afterward.”
I felt sick.
“Say that in plain English.”
He did.
“Someone may have switched your chart.”
Lila’s eyes filled.
“With whose?”
“I don’t know.”
I thought of the text message.
They’re checking whether you know what happened to your first baby.
I looked at Dr. Brennan.
“You think our baby didn’t die.”
His face changed.
“I think the records are inconsistent enough that I cannot tell you what happened.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“It’s what I know.”
“Could a baby survive an eleven-week miscarriage?”
“Not at that gestation.”
“So if there was still a viable pregnancy…”
“Then either your miscarriage date was wrong, your chart was wrong, or there was another pregnancy associated with your file.”
Lila put both hands over her face.
I moved to her immediately.
She was shaking.
“Lila.”
She lowered her hands.
“Why would Mara do this?”
“We don’t know that she did.”
Dr. Brennan said.
“Her name being in a file doesn’t mean she knew.”
Lila laughed bitterly.
“You said she came here yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“She asked for my room.”
“Yes.”
“And now someone has broken into my apartment.”
“We don’t know that was Mara.”
“Then who?”
“I don’t know.”
My phone vibrated.
All three of us looked at it.
Unknown number.
Another message.
YOU’RE ASKING THE WRONG DOCTOR.
I showed Dr. Brennan.
His face tightened.
A second message arrived.
ASK HIM WHAT HAPPENED ON OCTOBER 14.
I looked at Dr. Brennan.
“What happened October fourteenth?”
He said nothing.
“Doctor?”
Lila looked at him.
“What happened?”
His face had gone pale.
“That was the day the clinic closed.”
“Why?”
“I told you.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You told us investigators found falsified records.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“What happened that day?”
Dr. Brennan looked at the locked door.
Then at us.
“There was a fire.”
I stared at him.
“A fire?”
“In the laboratory wing.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“One technician.”
“Killed?”
He nodded.
“Who?”
“Dr. Selena Ward.”
Lila frowned.
“I remember that name.”
Dr. Brennan looked surprised.
“From where?”
Lila’s expression changed.
“She called me once.”
“When?”
“After my first loss.”
I turned to her.
“You never told me that.”
“I forgot about it.”
“What did she say?”
Lila closed her eyes, searching her memory.
“She asked if I was recovering.”
“Then she asked whether I had received my pathology report.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That the clinic said there wasn’t enough tissue to test.”
Dr. Brennan went still.
“What?”
I looked at him.
“Why is that important?”
He leaned toward Lila.
“Did she say anything else?”
“She sounded nervous.”
“She asked if anyone from the clinic had contacted me about stored samples.”
“What did you say?”
“I said no.”
“Then?”
“She hung up.”
Dr. Brennan stood.
“How long after that did she die?”
Lila stared at him.
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe a week.”
He swore under his breath.
“What?”
I asked.
He walked toward the door.
“What?”
“Selena was the technician who reported the inconsistencies.”
My stomach dropped.
“The whistleblower?”
“Unofficially.”
“Did she cause the investigation?”
“Yes.”
“And then she died in the fire.”
“Yes.”
“Accident?”
Dr. Brennan didn’t answer.
I laughed without humor.
“Of course not.”
He turned back.
“Investigators called it accidental.”
“But you don’t believe that.”
“I never did.”
Lila whispered:
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I was twenty-nine.”
“A resident.”
“Terrified.”
“And because the hospital administration made it very clear that anyone who kept asking questions would lose their career.”
I stared at him.
“So you stayed quiet.”
“Yes.”
“And now?”
“Now someone is inside Lila’s apartment stealing old records.”
He looked at my phone.
“Which means whatever started at Bellmere five years ago isn’t finished.”
My phone buzzed again.
A photograph.
This one showed a little girl.
Maybe four years old.
Brown hair.
A yellow coat.
She was standing outside a preschool.
I stared at the image.
Lila leaned closer.
“Who is that?”
I didn’t know.
Then another message appeared.
LOOK AT HER EYES.
I enlarged the photograph.
Something about the child felt familiar.
Not enough to understand.
Then Lila gasped.
“Ethan.”
“What?”
“She looks like you.”
I stared again.
The shape of the eyes.
The eyebrows.
The small dimple near the left cheek.
My mother always said I had the same dimple as my grandfather.
“No.”
I whispered.
A second photograph arrived.
The little girl standing beside a woman.
The woman was turned away from the camera.
But Lila knew her instantly.
“Mara.”
Her voice cracked.
I looked at her.
“That’s Mara?”
“Yes.”
My pulse exploded.
Another message.
The child has been living under the name Sophie Vale.
I typed:
WHO IS SHE?
The response came almost immediately.
You already know.
I stared at the screen.
“No.”
Lila gripped my arm.
“Ethan…”
“No.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions.”
Dr. Brennan said.
But his voice lacked conviction.
I typed:
WHO IS SOPHIE?
The answer came.
THE BABY YOU WERE TOLD LILA LOST.
The phone nearly fell from my hand.
Lila stopped breathing.
“No.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“No.”
“No.”
I caught her as she tried to stand.
“Lila.”
“They said she died.”
“I know.”
“They showed me…”
She stopped.
Her face changed.
“What?”
I asked.
“They never showed me her.”
The words came slowly.
“They said there was nothing to see.”
I remembered.
The doctor had told us the pregnancy had ended early.
That it would be more traumatic to ask questions.
We had been devastated.
Young.
Trusting.
We went home.
We cried.
We buried a future.
We never questioned paperwork.
I looked at Dr. Brennan.
“Could someone fake a miscarriage?”
He looked horrified.
“Not easily.”
“Could they?”
“With enough access to records, medication, ultrasound reports…”
He stopped.
Lila understood.
“They could make someone believe it.”
He didn’t answer.
My stomach turned.
“What medication?”
“Certain medications could produce bleeding and cramping.”
Lila’s eyes widened.
“I was given pills.”
I looked at her.
“What pills?”
“The clinic said they would help my body complete the miscarriage.”
Dr. Brennan went pale.
“Do you remember the name?”
“No.”
“But I still have the discharge paperwork somewhere.”
My anger became something colder.
“If she was still pregnant…”
Dr. Brennan shook his head.
“We are getting ahead of ourselves.”
“If she was still pregnant, what happened next?”
“We need original records.”
“The apartment file is gone.”
“Maybe not everything.”
He looked at Lila.
“Did you ever receive copies from the clinic by email?”
“Maybe.”
“Old account?”
“Yes.”
“Can you access it?”
“I think so.”
She pulled out her phone.
Her hands shook so badly I took it from her.
“Tell me.”
She gave me the password.
We searched.
Hundreds of old emails.
Bills.
Appointments.
Pharmacy receipts.
Then:
Bellmere Fertility Center — Secure Documents.
Dated five years earlier.
Two weeks after the miscarriage.
I opened it.
The attachment required another password.
Lila whispered:
“Try my date of birth.”
It failed.
“Our anniversary?”
Failed.
I looked at her.
“What did they usually use?”
“Patient number.”
“Do you remember it?”
“No.”
Dr. Brennan looked at the old file.
“LH-2048.”
I entered it.
The document opened.
There were fifteen pages.
Most were ordinary.
Labs.
Medication.
Insurance.
Then page eleven.
POST-PROCEDURE STATUS: VIABLE PREGNANCY.
Date:
Four days after we had been told the baby was gone.
Lila made a sound I will never forget.
Not a scream.
Not a cry.
Something between them.
I stared at the screen.
“Viable.”
Dr. Brennan took the phone.
“This isn’t a final report.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means someone recorded fetal cardiac activity.”
“Four days after our miscarriage.”
“Yes.”
Lila started sobbing.
I held her.
Dr. Brennan scrolled.
Page twelve.
PATIENT TRANSFER AUTHORIZATION.
Recipient facility:
Northfield Maternal Center.
“What’s Northfield?”
I asked.
Dr. Brennan looked stunned.
“It closed three years ago.”
“What was it?”
“A private maternal-care residence.”
“For high-risk pregnancies.”
“Was Lila transferred there?”
“No.”
She said it immediately.
“I went home.”
“Then who was?”
He scrolled.
A name.
MARA VOSS.
Lila went completely still.
“Voss?”
I asked.
“Her married name?”
“No.”
“She was never married.”
Dr. Brennan looked at us.
“Then we need to find out why she was using it.”
My phone buzzed.
Another photograph.
This time it showed Mara clearly.
She was younger.
Pregnant.
Very pregnant.
The date stamp was seven months after Lila’s supposed miscarriage.
Lila stared at the image.
“She was pregnant.”
I looked at her.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“Did your parents?”
“They died before that.”
“Where was Mara living?”
“She told me Portugal.”
Dr. Brennan zoomed in on the photograph.
There was a sign behind her.
NORTHFIELD MATERNAL CENTER.
Lila began crying harder.
“My sister was carrying a baby at the same time I was supposed to be grieving mine.”
I looked at the dates.
“Wait.”
Something didn’t fit.
“If Sophie is four now…”
“She’d match the timeline.”
Dr. Brennan said quietly.
I looked at him.
“Are you saying Mara carried our embryo?”
“No.”
He stopped.
“Actually…”
“What?”
He took the phone again.
“There’s another possibility.”
“What?”
“If an embryo associated with your genetic material had been implanted in Lila…”
“Yes?”
“And later transferred on paper to Mara’s case…”
“On paper?”
“Then Mara may not have been genetically connected at all.”
Lila stared at him.
“Could she have been a surrogate?”
“Without knowing?”
“No.”
“Without me knowing?”
Dr. Brennan looked sick.
“If records were falsified at that level, I don’t know.”
I turned away.
It was too much.
Every answer opened another door.
Then Lila whispered:
“Ethan.”
I looked at her.
“Why would Mara agree to take my baby?”
I had no answer.
Dr. Brennan did.
“Money.”
Lila looked at him sharply.
“What?”
“There were rumors.”
“What rumors?”
“That Bellmere paid women to carry pregnancies connected to private research.”
“Mara needed money back then.”
Lila whispered.
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“She had debts.”
“Bad ones.”
“She never told me how bad.”
My phone buzzed again.
A bank statement.
MARA VOSS.
Deposit:
$180,000.
Five years ago.
Two days after Lila’s miscarriage.
Lila stared at it.
“She sold my baby.”
“No.”
Dr. Brennan said.
“We still don’t know that.”
“Then explain the payment.”
“I can’t.”
Another message arrived.
SHE DIDN’T SELL THE BABY.
Lila stared at my phone.
I typed:
THEN WHAT DID SHE DO?
The response took longer this time.
SHE SAVED HER.
I felt my anger falter.
A second message:
ASK MARA WHY SHE RAN.
Then:
AND ASK HER WHO ADRIAN VOSS IS.
Dr. Brennan went completely still.
I noticed.
“You know that name.”
He didn’t answer.
“Doctor.”
“Yes.”
“Who is Adrian Voss?”
He sat slowly.
“He financed Bellmere.”
My stomach dropped.
“The clinic?”
“Part of it.”
“And Mara used his last name.”
“Yes.”
“Was she married to him?”
“Not legally.”
“Then what?”
Dr. Brennan’s face tightened.
“She worked for him.”
Lila stared.
“My sister?”
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know.”
“But Selena believed Voss was behind the hidden research.”
“The same Selena who died in the fire.”
“Yes.”
I looked at Lila.
“Mara may have known everything.”
“Or been trapped in it.”
Dr. Brennan said.
I stared at him.
“Why defend her?”
“I’m not.”
“I’m telling you that if Voss was involved, people didn’t just walk away.”
Lila whispered:
“Then why is Mara coming back now?”
My phone answered before any of us could.
Because she knows Voss found Sophie.
I froze.
Another message.
And if you want your daughter alive, you need to leave the hospital.
Now.
I looked at Dr. Brennan.
“Is this some kind of trap?”
“I don’t know.”
Lila tried to sit up straighter.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“Ethan.”
“No.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“We don’t know that.”
“I know.”
The certainty in her voice stopped me.
“I don’t need a DNA test to know something is wrong.”
She pulled at the monitor leads.
Dr. Brennan stepped forward.
“You are not medically stable enough to leave.”
“Then discharge me.”
“I won’t.”
“Then I’ll leave against advice.”
“Lila.”
She looked directly at him.
“If there is even a chance that child is the baby I was told died, you are not keeping me in this bed.”
He stared at her.
Then sighed.
“At least let me stabilize your fever.”
“How long?”
“An hour.”
“Thirty minutes.”
“Lila.”
“Thirty.”
He looked at me.
I nodded.
“Thirty.”
Dr. Brennan left to arrange medication.
The second the door closed, Lila looked at me.
“You’re thinking I’m reckless.”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
“Yes.”
She almost smiled.
Then her expression broke.
“Ethan.”
I sat beside her.
“What if she really is ours?”
I didn’t know how to answer.
For five years, we had carried the grief of losing that baby.
It had changed our marriage.
Changed Lila.
Changed me.
What if the thing that broke us had been a lie?
“What if she isn’t?”
I asked.
Lila nodded.
“Then she’s still a child who may be in danger.”
I took her hand.
“You’re right.”
She looked at me.
“I don’t know what we are anymore.”
“Neither do I.”
“But if we do this…”
“We do it together.”
Her eyes filled.
“Okay.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Dr. Brennan returned.
He had one more piece of information.
“We found an address for Mara.”
“Where?”
“She used it during yesterday’s hospital registration.”
“Local?”
“Yes.”
He handed me a slip of paper.
17 Rosemont Court.
I knew the neighborhood.
Twenty minutes away.
“Why would she give the hospital her real address?”
Dr. Brennan shook his head.
“Maybe she wanted to be found.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A location pin.
17 Rosemont Court.
Same address.
Then one final message.
COME ALONE.
I laughed bitterly.
“That’s not happening.”
Lila looked at the screen.
“Whoever this is knows where Mara is.”
“Or is Mara.”
“Maybe.”
We left through a side entrance after Dr. Brennan insisted on arranging a wheelchair for Lila.
She hated it.
I didn’t care.
The drive to Rosemont Court felt endless.
Lila sat beside me in silence.
Halfway there, she whispered:
“Ethan.”
“Yeah?”
“If Sophie is ours…”
I tightened my hands on the wheel.
“Don’t.”
“I need to say it.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t expect us to suddenly become a family again.”
I looked at her.
“I’m not thinking about that.”
“Neither am I.”
A pause.
“But…”
“What?”
“If she is ours, I don’t want her first memory of us to be two people fighting.”
I swallowed.
“It won’t be.”
Lila nodded.
We reached Rosemont Court at 4:18 a.m.
The neighborhood was quiet.
Number 17 was a small two-story house.
One light glowed upstairs.
I parked across the street.
“Stay here.”
Lila gave me a look.
“No.”
“Lila.”
“I’m coming.”
“You’re sick.”
“I’m aware.”
“You nearly collapsed twelve hours ago.”
“And that’s my possible daughter inside.”
There was no point arguing.
I helped her out.
We crossed the street together.
Before I could knock, the door opened.
Mara stood there.
She looked older than the photograph.
Tired.
Terrified.
But unmistakably Lila’s sister.
Her eyes immediately filled with tears.
“Lila.”
Lila stared at her.
“Where is she?”
Mara looked at me.
Then back at her.
“Inside.”
“Is Sophie my daughter?”
Mara closed her eyes.
“Lila—”
“Answer me.”
“Yes.”
Lila nearly collapsed.
I caught her.
Mara started crying.
“I’m sorry.”
Lila pushed away from me.
“You let me believe she died.”
“I had no choice.”
“You had five years.”
“You had every choice.”
“No.”
Mara shook her head.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
Mara looked over her shoulder.
“Come inside.”
The living room was dim.
A child’s backpack rested beside the couch.
Pink shoes near the door.
A drawing taped to the refrigerator.
My heart pounded.
“Where is Sophie?”
I asked.
“Sleeping.”
“Does she know who we are?”
“No.”
“Does she know you’re not her mother?”
Mara flinched.
“She thinks I’m her aunt.”
“Who does she think her mother is?”
Mara looked at Lila.
“That she died.”
Lila broke.
She covered her mouth and cried silently.
Mara moved toward her.
Lila stepped back.
“Don’t touch me.”
Mara stopped.
I asked:
“Why did you take her?”
“I didn’t.”
“Then who did?”
“Adrian.”
“Voss?”
She nodded.
“Who is he?”
Mara looked terrified.
“The man who owned Bellmere.”
“Why did he want our child?”
“He didn’t.”
“Then what?”
“He wanted the pregnancy.”
I frowned.
“What’s the difference?”
“He was trying to prove something.”
“What?”
“That embryos could be transferred between patients without detection.”
My stomach turned.
“Human experiments.”
“Yes.”
Lila stared at her sister.
“And you helped him.”
“I worked for his company.”
“I didn’t know what Bellmere was doing at first.”
“When did you find out?”
“The day after your supposed miscarriage.”
Lila’s face went cold.
“And what did you do?”
“I went to the clinic.”
“I found Selena.”
“She told me your pregnancy was still viable.”
“What?”
Lila whispered.
Mara nodded.
“Your medical record had been swapped with another patient’s.”
“You had been told you miscarried.”
“But you hadn’t.”
I stared at her.
“Then Lila was still pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“How did Sophie end up with you?”
Mara started crying.
“Because Adrian found out Selena had told me.”
“What happened?”
“He ordered the pregnancy removed from Lila’s case.”
“Removed how?”
“No one explained it.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not.”
Mara looked at Lila.
“I thought they were going to end the pregnancy.”
“So I made a deal.”
Lila whispered:
“What deal?”
“I told Adrian I’d cooperate.”
“In exchange for what?”
“For keeping the embryo alive.”
I felt sick.
“How?”
Mara looked at me.
“They transferred it.”
Lila stared.
“From me?”
Mara nodded.
“Without my consent?”
“Yes.”
“Into you?”
“Yes.”
Lila made a broken sound.
I stepped between them before emotion became something worse.
Mara continued quickly.
“I know how monstrous it sounds.”
“It was.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because the alternative was that Sophie died.”
Lila stared at her.
“You could have told me.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Adrian threatened you.”
“With what?”
“Everything.”
“He had your address.”
“Ethan’s workplace.”
“Your parents’ graves.”
“He knew where everyone was.”
I asked:
“Why would he care if Lila knew?”
“Because if she reported the procedure, Bellmere was finished.”
“Bellmere did close.”
“Because Selena tried anyway.”
“And died.”
Mara nodded.
“The fire wasn’t an accident.”
My stomach dropped.
“Did Voss order it?”
“I believe so.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Now I can.”
“How?”
Mara looked upstairs.
“Sophie has something.”
“What?”
“Selena hid a storage drive inside a stuffed rabbit.”
I stared at her.
“Why would Sophie have it?”
“Selena gave it to me before the fire.”
“She said if anything happened, I needed to protect the child and the drive.”
“Why keep Sophie for five years?”
“Because Adrian never stopped looking.”
“For the drive?”
“Yes.”
“And when he couldn’t find it…”
“He watched us.”
“We moved constantly.”
“Different states.”
“Different names.”
“Why come back here?”
“Because Lila got sick.”
The room went silent.
Lila stared at her.
“You knew?”
Mara nodded.
“How?”
“Adrian contacted me.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“What did he say?”
“That Bellmere’s old patients were becoming a problem.”
I felt cold.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why did you come?”
“Because he mentioned Lila by name.”
Mara’s voice broke.
“And because he said something I couldn’t ignore.”
“What?”
“He said your leukemia wasn’t random.”
Lila went completely still.
I felt rage rise.
“What caused it?”
“I don’t know.”
“But Adrian said some of the women exposed to one of Bellmere’s experimental medications developed blood disorders years later.”
Lila covered her mouth.
“The medication after my miscarriage.”
Mara nodded.
“Possibly.”
I thought about the pills.
The altered medical records.
The years of grief.
The pregnancy now.
“Can this be proven?”
“Selena’s drive has trial logs.”
“Patient numbers.”
“Medication batches.”
“Payments.”
“Everything.”
“Where is it?”
Mara looked toward the stairs.
“In Sophie’s room.”
A floorboard creaked above us.
All three of us looked up.
Then a small voice came from the staircase.
“Aunt Mara?”
My heart stopped.
A little girl stood halfway down.
Yellow pajamas.
Brown hair.
Sleepy eyes.
The same eyes from the photograph.
My eyes.
Lila grabbed my hand.
Hard.
Sophie looked at us.
“Who are they?”
Mara’s face crumpled.
She walked toward the stairs.
“Sophie, sweetheart…”
The little girl looked at Lila.
Then at me.
Something strange happened.
She stared at me longer.
“Have I seen you before?”
I couldn’t speak.
Lila whispered:
“No, baby.”
The word escaped before she meant to say it.
Sophie looked at her.
“Why did you call me baby?”
Lila started crying.
Mara knelt beside Sophie.
“There’s something I need to explain.”
Then headlights swept across the living-room wall.
Mara froze.
Her face changed instantly.
“No.”
I moved toward the window.
A black sedan had stopped outside.
Another pulled in behind it.
“Who is that?”
Lila whispered.
Mara ran upstairs.
“Get Sophie.”
I said.
“Now.”
Mara came back seconds later carrying a stuffed rabbit.
She shoved it into my hands.
“Take this.”
“What?”
“The drive.”
“Where?”
“Inside the left ear.”
Sophie began crying.
“Aunt Mara?”
Mara grabbed her.
“Sweetheart, get your shoes.”
Someone knocked on the front door.
Three times.
Mara stopped breathing.
Then a man’s voice came from outside.
“Mara.”
She went white.
“Who is that?”
I asked.
She whispered:
“Adrian.”
The knock came again.
“Mara, open the door.”
I looked around.
“Back exit?”
“Kitchen.”
“Take Lila and Sophie.”
“No.”
Mara shook her head.
“You take them.”
“What are you doing?”
“Buying time.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Lila.”
Mara looked at her sister.
For the first time, everything between them disappeared.
Anger.
Betrayal.
Five lost years.
There was only fear.
“Please.”
Lila started crying.
“You took my daughter.”
“I saved her the only way I knew how.”
“You should have trusted me.”
“I know.”
Mara’s voice broke.
“I know.”
Adrian knocked again.
Harder.
“Mara.”
“We’re done running.”
Mara looked at me.
“Get them out.”
I grabbed Sophie’s coat.
Lila took her hand.
Sophie looked terrified.
“What’s happening?”
“It’s okay.”
Lila whispered.
“Stay with me.”
Mara opened the kitchen door.
“Go.”
We moved into the backyard.
I looked back once.
Mara was standing alone in the living room.
The stuffed rabbit was still in my hand.
Then the front door crashed open.
Lila gasped.
“Run.”
We ran.
Or tried to.
Lila was weak.
Sophie was crying.
I half-carried them both through the neighboring yard.
Behind us, someone shouted.
Then another voice.
Mara screamed.
Lila stopped.
“Mara!”
I grabbed her.
“No.”
“We can’t leave her.”
“We’re not.”
I pulled out my phone.
One bar.
I called emergency services.
Then headlights appeared at the end of the alley.
Another car.
For one terrible second, I thought Adrian had people waiting behind the house too.
Then blue lights flashed.
Police.
Three vehicles.
Then two more.
I stared.
“How?”
Lila whispered.
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
YOU’RE WELCOME.
I looked at the message.
Then another.
SELENA DIDN’T DIE IN THAT FIRE.
My skin went cold.
I typed:
WHO ARE YOU?
The reply came.
The person who has been trying to fix what Bellmere did.
Then:
My name is Selena Ward.
I stared at the screen.
“No.”
Lila looked at me.
“What?”
I showed her.
Her mouth fell open.
“Dr. Brennan said she died.”
A final message appeared.
Brennan believes I died because that is what I needed everyone to believe.
Then another:
Do not give the drive to Brennan.
My blood ran cold.
“Why?”
Lila whispered.
I typed the same question.
WHY?
The response took almost a minute.
When it came, I felt everything shift again.
Because Brennan was not the resident who tried to expose Bellmere.
He was the resident who helped Adrian erase the first records.
I stared at the phone.
Lila whispered:
“No.”
A second message arrived.
And if he has your blood now, you have a much bigger problem than Sophie.
I remembered the hospital.
The needle.
The compatibility test.
My blood.
Dr. Brennan locking the door.
Then the final message appeared.
Ethan, your donor test was never for Lila.
I couldn’t breathe.
I typed:
THEN WHAT WAS IT FOR?
Three dots appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Then:
To confirm whether Sophie was really your daughter.
I looked at the little girl holding Lila’s hand.
Sophie stared back at me.
And before I could process what that meant, another message arrived.
He has the result.
And if Brennan told Adrian what it says…
They now know they stole the wrong child.
