For a moment, I couldn’t move.
Dr. Samuel Reed was standing outside my apartment.
The same doctor who had told me my son was dead.
The same doctor whose name appeared on Claire’s letter.
And beside him stood Robert.
My husband.
The man who had walked away from me three months ago.
The man who had told me he couldn’t watch me cry anymore.
The man who had left me alone with an empty crib and a box of hospital memories.
Now they were standing together outside my door.
And Dr. Reed had just told me not to trust Robert.
I looked down at the baby in my arms.
He was crying softly.
I covered his head with the edge of the blanket.
Then I looked at Mark.
“Don’t open the door.”
Mark nodded.
He looked terrified.
Robert knocked again.
“Andrea?”
His voice sounded almost normal.
Almost concerned.
“Andrea, I know you’re in there.”
I said nothing.
“Please open the door.”
Mark whispered, “How did he know?”
I shook my head.
I didn’t know.
Then Dr. Reed stepped closer to the door.
“Andrea,” he said, loud enough for me to hear, “we need to talk.”
My heart pounded.
“About my son?”
Silence.
Then Robert answered.
“Yes.”
I looked at Mark.
His face had gone pale.
Robert continued.
“About Matthew.”
The baby stopped crying.
I felt every hair on my arms rise.
Robert knew his name.
Not the name Mark had given him.
Not Emerson.
Matthew.
I slowly stepped backward.
“How does Robert know that name?”
Mark didn’t answer.
I turned toward him.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“You brought this baby here.”
“I know.”
“You knew he might be Matthew.”
“I know.”
“And now my husband is outside saying his name.”
“I don’t know what’s happening.”
For the first time since Mark had arrived, I believed him.
He was scared.
Not pretending.
Not manipulating.
Actually scared.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
There was only one sentence.
Don’t open the door. Robert was there the night Matthew disappeared.
My stomach dropped.
I looked at Mark.
He saw my face.
“What?”
I handed him the phone.
He read the message.
His eyes widened.
Then another message appeared.
Look inside the baby’s diaper bag. Bottom compartment.
I froze.
The diaper bag sat on the dining table.
I walked toward it.
“Andrea, wait,” Mark said.
“Why?”
“It could be a trap.”
“Everything tonight could be a trap.”
I opened the bag.
Diapers.
Bottles.
Blankets.
A small container of formula.
Then I found the bottom compartment.
There was a zipper I hadn’t noticed.
I opened it.
Inside was a small flash drive.
And beneath it—
A key.
A hospital key.
Stamped with a number.
217.
My hands went cold.
“Two seventeen,” I whispered.
The time Matthew supposedly died.
Mark stared at the key.
“That’s not a coincidence.”
“No.”
Another knock.
This time harder.
Robert’s voice changed.
“Andrea, open the door.”
I walked toward it.
Mark grabbed my arm.
“Don’t.”
I looked at him.
“I’m not opening it.”
I reached for the security chain instead.
I opened the door just enough to see Robert’s face.
He looked different.
Older.
Tired.
Almost frightened.
“Andrea.”
“What do you want?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Then talk.”
His eyes moved over my shoulder.
He saw Mark.
His face changed.
Then he saw the baby.
He stopped breathing.
“Where did you get him?”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
Robert’s eyes filled with something I couldn’t identify.
“Andrea…”
“Why are you asking?”
He swallowed.
“Because that baby isn’t safe.”
I almost laughed.
“Funny.”
“What?”
“You abandoned me when I needed you.”
“I know.”
“You couldn’t stand to watch me grieve.”
“I know.”
“You left me alone.”
“I know.”
“And now you suddenly care about a baby?”
His jaw tightened.
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You’re trying to protect yourself.”
Robert looked at Dr. Reed.
The doctor immediately said:
“She knows.”
Robert closed his eyes.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
He looked at me.
“Then we don’t have much time.”
I opened the door another inch.
“Tell me the truth.”
Robert looked at the baby.
Then at me.
“I was there.”
My chest tightened.
“The night Matthew disappeared.”
Mark stepped forward.
“What did you do?”
Robert looked at him.
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand enough.”
“You have no idea what they were capable of.”
“Who are they?”
Robert didn’t answer.
I whispered:
“Who?”
He finally looked at me.
“The fertility clinic.”
I frowned.
“What fertility clinic?”
“The one Claire used.”
I felt dizzy.
Robert continued.
“Claire didn’t become pregnant naturally. She underwent IVF at a private clinic outside Denver.”
“Why would they take my son?”
“Because of the embryo.”
I shook my head.
“What embryo?”
Robert looked at Dr. Reed.
The doctor gave him a small nod.
Robert took a breath.
“Your eggs were donated.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Years ago.”
“No.”
“You were twenty-nine.”
“I never donated eggs.”
Robert’s face broke.
“Not knowingly.”
The room went silent.
I felt like I was falling.
“What does that mean?”
Dr. Reed finally spoke.
“When you underwent fertility treatment before your marriage, your medical records were entered into a database.”
I frowned.
“I never had fertility treatment.”
“You did.”
“No.”
“Andrea…”
“No.”
I backed away.
“I never went through IVF.”
Robert whispered:
“Your first husband paid for it.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Mark.”
My world shifted.
I turned toward Mark.
He looked horrified.
“Andrea, I didn’t—”
“You paid for fertility treatment?”
“Not for you.”
“Then why?”
He looked down.
“Because Claire couldn’t have children.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Explain.”
Mark’s eyes filled with tears.
“After I left you, Claire and I tried for years. She couldn’t conceive. We went to specialists. They told us IVF was our only option.”
“You used my eggs.”
“No.”
“Then how?”
“I thought the clinic provided an anonymous donor.”
My voice became a whisper.
“But it was me.”
Mark nodded.
“I didn’t know.”
I looked at Dr. Reed.
“Did you?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation was enough.
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
“How long?”
“Three months.”
“Three months?”
“The night Matthew was born.”
I gripped the door.
“What happened?”
Dr. Reed looked at the floor.
“I was called to the neonatal unit at 2:10 a.m.”
“Why?”
“Because Matthew’s condition suddenly deteriorated.”
“He was healthy.”
“He was.”
“Then what happened?”
Dr. Reed’s face became pale.
“Someone entered the nursery.”
“Who?”
“I didn’t see the face.”
“But you saw someone.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“A man.”
“What man?”
“I couldn’t tell.”
“Why didn’t you stop him?”
“Because I had been sedated.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Someone drugged me.”
The hallway was silent.
Robert finally spoke.
“I found him.”
I turned.
“You found Dr. Reed?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“The nurse.”
“What nurse?”
“The one who was assigned to Matthew.”
My heart raced.
“What happened to her?”
Robert looked away.
“She disappeared.”
“When?”
“That same night.”
I looked down at the baby.
He was sleeping.
Completely unaware of the nightmare surrounding him.
“Why did you leave me?”
Robert didn’t answer immediately.
Then he said:
“Because I thought you were in danger.”
I shook my head.
“You told me you couldn’t bear to see me cry.”
“I lied.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because they were watching our house.”
“Who?”
“The people who had taken Matthew.”
I stepped backward.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because they threatened you.”
“What did they threaten?”
“Your life.”
I looked at Dr. Reed.
He nodded.
“It’s true.”
I felt tears running down my face.
“So you abandoned me to protect me?”
Robert’s voice broke.
“I thought if I made you hate me, you’d stay away from me.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It was the only way I could think of.”
“You could have told me.”
“They were monitoring your phone.”
I looked at my phone.
“Then how am I getting these messages?”
Robert’s face changed.
“What messages?”
I showed him the latest one.
His eyes widened.
“Where did you get that?”
“Unknown number.”
Robert took a step toward me.
“Don’t respond.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever sent it knows exactly where you are.”
My stomach tightened.
Then the baby began to cry.
I instinctively held him closer.
He turned his face toward my chest.
I sat down.
Without thinking, I began nursing him again.
Everyone became silent.
His tiny hand rested against my skin.
And something happened.
The baby stopped crying.
He opened his eyes.
He looked at me.
And then—
he smiled.
Not a reflex.
Not the random movement of a newborn.
A tiny, sleepy smile.
My heart shattered.
Because Matthew had done that.
On the morning I left the hospital.
The nurse had said:
“Some babies smile in their sleep.”
But I had believed it was my son smiling at me.
I touched his cheek.
“Matthew.”
The baby moved his hand.
His fingers wrapped around mine.
I cried.
This time, I didn’t care who saw.
Mark looked away.
Robert wiped his face.
Even Dr. Reed looked down.
Then Mark whispered:
“There’s something else.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“The flash drive.”
I remembered it.
I stood.
We connected it to my laptop.
There was one folder.
M.C. — TRANSFER
Inside were seventeen video files.
My hands shook as I opened the first.
Security camera footage.
A hospital hallway.
Timestamp:
2:11 A.M.
A nurse pushed a bassinet.
Matthew was inside.
I covered my mouth.
The nurse looked around.
Then another person appeared.
A man in a dark jacket.
His face was hidden.
He took the bassinet.
The nurse hesitated.
Then handed it over.
I opened the next video.
2:14.
The man entered an elevator.
2:17.
The elevator stopped on the basement level.
2:19.
The man walked through a service corridor.
2:23.
A black SUV waited outside.
Then the video ended.
My hands were shaking so badly I could barely operate the mouse.
“Play the next one.”
Mark did.
The next video showed a different camera.
The black SUV.
The rear door opened.
The man placed Matthew inside.
Then he removed his mask.
I screamed.
Because I knew him.
Mark stood up.
Robert staggered backward.
Dr. Reed whispered:
“No.”
The man on the screen looked directly toward the camera.
It was—
Robert’s brother, Daniel.
Robert’s face became completely white.
“Daniel…”
I turned toward him.
“You knew?”
He shook his head violently.
“No.”
“That’s your brother.”
“I know.”
“He took my son.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You said you found the nurse.”
“I did.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me Daniel was involved?”
“Because I didn’t know!”
He looked devastated.
“I thought Daniel was trying to help.”
I stared at him.
“Help who?”
Robert couldn’t answer.
Then another sound came from the hallway.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Coming toward my apartment.
Dr. Reed immediately stepped away from the door.
“Everyone be quiet.”
The footsteps stopped outside.
Then someone whispered:
“Andrea?”
My blood froze.
It was a woman’s voice.
I knew it.
I had heard it before.
In the hospital.
On the night Matthew was born.
The voice of the nurse.
The woman everyone said had disappeared.
I slowly approached the door.
“Who are you?”
A pause.
Then:
“Open the door.”
Dr. Reed grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t.”
The woman whispered again.
“I’m the one who saved your son.”
My heart stopped.
“What’s your name?”
Silence.
Then she answered:
“Emily.”
I knew that name.
It was written on Matthew’s original birth records.
Nurse Emily Harper.
The nurse who had supposedly disappeared.
The nurse who had held Matthew after his birth.
The nurse who had told me:
“Your son is beautiful, Andrea.”
I opened the door.
Emily stood in the hallway.
She was thinner.
Pale.
Her hair was cut short.
She looked like someone who had spent months hiding.
And in her hands was a small brown envelope.
She looked at the baby.
Then at me.
Tears filled her eyes.
“He’s alive.”
I nodded.
“Is he my son?”
Emily looked at Mark.
Then Robert.
Then Dr. Reed.
Finally, she looked at me.
“Yes.”
My legs nearly collapsed.
Emily stepped closer.
“But there’s something you need to know.”
“What?”
She handed me the envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Not of Matthew.
Not of Claire.
Not of Robert.
It was a photograph of me.
Taken ten years earlier.
I was standing outside the fertility clinic.
Beside me was a doctor I had never remembered meeting.
And written across the bottom of the photograph were five words:
THEY CHOSE HER BEFORE CLAIRE.
I looked at Emily.
“What does that mean?”
She whispered:
“Claire wasn’t the first woman they planned to give your child to.”
My heart stopped.
“Who was?”
Emily looked toward the staircase.
Then she said:
“Your mother.”
I stared at her.
“My mother is dead.”
Emily shook her head.
“No, Andrea.”
She pointed to the photograph.
“Your mother isn’t dead.”
Then someone behind us screamed.
It was Mark.
Because the apartment television had turned on by itself.
And on the screen was a live video feed.
A woman was sitting in a dark room.
An older woman.
Gray hair.
Pale face.
Terrified eyes.
I knew that face.
Even after twenty-seven years.
Even after everyone told me she died when I was a child.
I whispered:
“Mom?”
The woman on the screen looked directly at the camera.
Then she said:
“Andi…”
I stopped breathing.
She was alive.
And she was crying.
“Baby, I’m sorry.”
The screen went black.
And at that exact moment, every light in my apartment went out.
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 5…
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