Lucas was at the kitchen sink when I found him the next morning.
He had been there for several minutes, washing a baking sheet that was already clean.
The repetitive scrape of the sponge against metal filled the room.
“Lucas.”
“Yeah?”
He didn't turn.
“Stop.”
The sponge stopped.
He set it down slowly.
Then he faced me.
His eyes were red.
For a moment, I almost felt guilty.
Almost.
“Why was Nora at the hospital that night?”
“I told you.”
“You gave her money.”
“Yes.”
“You met her near the elevators.”
“Yes.”
“You were crying.”
He looked confused.
“Who told you that?”
“Toby.”
Lucas closed his eyes.
“Of course.”
I watched him.
“What does that mean?”
“It means he's eight.”
“He saw you.”
“He saw part of something.”
“What part?”
Lucas pulled out a chair.
“Sit down.”
“I don't want to sit.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he said, “Nora was desperate.”
“For rent.”
“Yes.”
“She called you from the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't she ask me?”
“You were having surgery.”
“She could have asked after.”
“You were grieving.”
The same phrase again.
You were grieving.
As though my grief had become a locked room where nobody needed to tell me anything.
I stepped closer.
“What did you give her?”
“Money.”
“How much?”
“I don't remember.”
“You already said that.”
“Because I don't remember.”
“Did you write her a check?”
“No.”
“Bank transfer?”
“No.”
“Cash?”
“Yes.”
“Why cash?”
“She needed it immediately.”
“At two in the morning?”
He looked down.
“Yes.”
I studied his face.
“Did she take something from the hospital?”
His head came up.
“What?”
“Toby says she left carrying a baby.”
Lucas's expression changed.
Not dramatically.
There was no gasp.
No shout.
Just a sudden stillness.
“What baby?”
I almost laughed from the strain.
“You know what baby.”
“I don't.”
“A newborn.”
“Nora had Clara.”
“Did she leave with Clara?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did Toby think it was Melanie?”
Lucas rubbed his forehead.
“Because he was scared.”
“He saw you give Nora money.”
“Yes.”
“He saw you touch the baby's head.”
Lucas stared at me.
“I don't remember doing that.”
“You don't remember?”
“No.”
I took a breath.
“Do you remember anything about that night?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me.”
He sat down.
“I remember the nurses taking you away.”
His voice was quiet.
“I remember being told the baby wasn't doing well.”
I said nothing.
“I remember Brenda taking Toby.”
His fingers tightened around each other.
“I remember standing outside the operating room.”
“You weren't with me?”
“I couldn't go in.”
“I know.”
“I waited.”
“For how long?”
“I don't know.”
“Then what?”
He looked at me.
“They told me Melanie didn't survive.”
The room seemed to grow colder.
“And after that?”
“I called Nora.”
“Why?”
“Because she was already there.”
I stared at him.
“She was already there?”
“Yes.”
“You said she came because she heard.”
“She did.”
“From whom?”
“I don't know.”
“Lucas.”
“I don't know.”
His voice broke slightly.
I stepped back.
“What did you tell her?”
“That the baby was gone.”
My hands began to shake.
“And she had Clara.”
“Yes.”
“So Toby saw two babies?”
“I suppose.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“Toby saw one.”
Lucas looked at me.
“He said Nora carried one baby away.”
Lucas didn't answer.
“And that baby was crying.”
His face changed.
I saw it.
This time there was no mistaking it.
Fear.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“What did you just remember?”
“Nothing.”
“Lucas.”
He stood.
“I don't want to do this.”
“You don't get to decide that.”
He stared at me.
I lowered my voice.
“Not anymore.”
The silence between us felt different now.
Not like grief.
Like a door neither of us wanted to open.
Finally he said, “Toby saw Nora holding Clara.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because Clara had a pink hat.”
I remembered something.
A photograph.
Nora had posted one weeks earlier.
Clara wore a pink knitted hat.
I had seen it.
I looked at Lucas.
“Toby said the baby was wrapped in blue.”
Lucas didn't answer.
That was the first moment I knew the question wasn't going away.
“What color blanket did Clara have?”
He looked at me.
“I don't know.”
“You held her.”
“I don't remember.”
“You held her, but you don't remember the blanket?”
“I was upset.”
I nodded slowly.
“Where was Melanie?”
He looked toward the hallway.
“I told you.”
“She died.”
“Yes.”
“Before I woke up?”
“Yes.”
“Who saw her?”
He swallowed.
“The doctors.”
“Who else?”
“I don't know.”
“You didn't see her?”
His silence answered.
I felt something inside me break.
“You didn't see our daughter.”
Lucas looked at me.
“I couldn't.”
“You couldn't?”
“They wouldn't let me.”
“Why?”
“Because they were working on her.”
“Then how do you know she was dead?”
“They told me.”
“Who?”
He didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
“Who told you?”
“I don't remember.”
That was impossible.
Or at least it should have been.
A father might forget a conversation years later.
Not two weeks after being told his newborn daughter had died.
I walked away before he could see my face.
Upstairs, Toby was sitting on the floor beside the glass jar.
He had added another bill.
“Where did you get that?”
“Grandma gave it to me.”
I crouched beside him.
“Did you tell Grandma why you're saving?”
He shook his head.
I took the bill and put it back in his hand.
“Keep it.”
He looked surprised.
“Why?”
“Because I don't want you stealing or hiding money anymore.”
“Are you going to find her?”
I looked at him.
“I need to find out what happened first.”
He nodded.
Then he said, “Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Don't ask Dad about the lady.”
“What lady?”
“The one who took the money.”
I felt a chill.
“Nora?”
“No.”
His face had gone pale.
“The other lady.”
I stared at him.
“What other lady?”
He shook his head.
“I don't know her.”
“Where did you see her?”
“At the hospital.”
“When?”
“Before Dad gave Aunt Nora the envelope.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“What did she look like?”
He closed his eyes.
“She had a blue shirt.”
“Was she a nurse?”
“I don't know.”
“What was she doing?”
“She talked to Dad.”
“Did she have a baby?”
“No.”
“Did Dad give her money?”
Toby shook his head.
“She gave Dad something.”
My mouth went dry.
“What?”
He opened his eyes.
“A piece of paper.”
“What kind?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you see what was on it?”
“Numbers.”
“What numbers?”
He thought.
“Eight.”
“Eight what?”
“I don't know.”
He looked frightened again.
“Then she went away.”
“Where?”
“Down the hallway.”
“Did Dad follow her?”
“No.”
“What did he do?”
“He looked at the paper.”
“And then?”
“He cried.”
I sat back.
For two weeks, I had believed the story of my daughter's death because I had been too broken to demand every detail.
Now there were too many details.
Nora had come.
Lucas had given her cash.
A baby had been carried away.
Another woman had spoken to Lucas.
She had given him a piece of paper.
And my husband had cried after reading it.
None of those things proved Melanie was alive.
None proved she had been taken.
But they were enough to make one thing certain.
I had not been told everything.
I went downstairs again.
Lucas was no longer at the sink.
He stood beside the kitchen table, staring at his phone.
“Who was the woman in the blue shirt?”
His face drained of color.
He didn't ask which woman.
He didn't ask what I meant.
He simply looked at me.
And that was when I understood that whatever Toby had seen, Lucas knew exactly who she was.
Click here to continue reading: PART 5: The Woman in the Blue Shirt Had Given Lucas a Number, and When I Finally Asked What It Meant, He Stopped Pretending He Didn’t Remember
Two Weeks After Burying My Newborn Daughter, I Found My Eight-Year-Old Hiding Money Away for a Reason That Made No Sense
Part 4 of 7
