My pulse hammered.
“What else?”
“A second label was visible underneath.”
I could hear paper moving on his end.
“What did it say?”
“Infant female. Private placement.”
The words left me cold.
“Placement with whom?”
“That part was covered.”
“Can it be recovered?”
“I’m working on it.”
I looked through the apartment windows as morning spread across the lake.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
Marcus hesitated.
“The file lists the infant’s father.”
I could not breathe.
“Who?”
“Ethan Harrison.”
I ended the call without remembering to say goodbye.
At the hospital, Hannah was no longer in intensive care.
She had been moved to a private recovery room overnight. The babies remained stable, though Noah still required significant respiratory support.
I found her alone, eating a few spoonfuls of oatmeal.
She looked up as I entered.
“You should knock.”
“I’m sorry.”
I stepped back and knocked on the open door.
Despite herself, she almost smiled.
Then she saw my face.
“What happened?”
I closed the door.
“Who is Sophie?”
The spoon slipped from her hand.
It struck the tray with a small metallic sound.
For several seconds, she did not move.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“You listed her as your daughter.”
Hannah pushed the tray away.
“You searched my records?”
“I searched records connected to my family. Your name was there.”
“You had no right.”
“My mother paid a doctor involved in illegal adoptions. A clinic file named me as the father of an infant girl.”
Her face drained of color.
I moved toward her, then stopped before getting too close.
“Hannah, did we have a child?”
She looked toward the window.
Outside, the rain had finally ended. Sunlight caught on the wet rooftops, making the city appear newly washed and strangely calm.
“I found out I was pregnant the morning after you left me,” she said.
Every sound in the room disappeared.
“I called you,” she continued. “Your number had changed.”
“My mother changed it.”
“I emailed. The messages came back. I went to the house, but security wouldn’t let me near the gate.”
I remembered those weeks. My parents had taken me to London, insisting distance would help me “recover.” My phone had been replaced after my father claimed the old one was compromised.
“Hannah…”
“I kept trying.”
Her voice trembled, but she did not cry.
“Then your mother contacted me. She said you knew about the pregnancy. She said you wanted proof.”
“What kind of proof?”
“A test. An examination. I agreed because I thought if I cooperated, you would speak to me.”
She looked down at her hands.
“Dr. Keene told me the pregnancy was dangerous. He said the baby had a condition that might not be survivable. Your mother said she knew specialists who could help.”
My chest tightened.
“What happened?”
“I went into labor early. Thirty-four weeks.”
“And Sophie?”
“She was alive.”
The words were barely audible.
“I heard her cry.”
I closed my eyes.
Hannah pressed one hand over her mouth, then forced herself to continue.
“When I woke up, they told me she had died.”
I sat down because my legs would no longer support me.
“Did you see her?”
“No. They said it would be better not to.”
“And you believed them?”
“For three days.”
“What changed?”
“A nurse came to my room late at night. She wouldn’t tell me her name. She said my daughter had been healthy enough to survive.”
Hannah’s eyes met mine.
“She said Sophie was taken.”
The room seemed suddenly too small.