Neither of us moved.
The newborn cried again.
It was not the muffled sound of a recording playing from a television or a distant baby fussing behind a closed door. It came from somewhere nearby, raw and unmistakably real.
I looked at Lucas.
His face had gone white.
“You heard that,” I whispered.
He nodded.
The elevator doors remained open.
Beyond them was a short corridor leading toward the maternity wing.
A nurse hurried around the corner carrying a stack of folded blankets. She stopped when she saw us.
“Can I help you?”
I pointed toward the hallway.
“Where is that baby?”
Her expression tightened.
“What baby?”
“The one crying.”
She glanced behind us.
“There are infants upstairs.”
“This is the second floor.”
“Yes.”
“Then why is there a baby crying down here?”
She hesitated.
Lucas stepped forward.
“Is nursery station four still in use?”
The nurse looked at him.
Then at me.
“How do you know about station four?”
I felt my pulse jump.
“Because my daughter's records mention it.”
The nurse's posture changed.
“What is your daughter's name?”
“Melanie.”
The woman lowered her eyes.
I knew that reaction now.
People knew her name.
People knew something.
I reached for the records in my bag.
“My daughter was born here two weeks ago. Her neonatal record has a forty-eight-minute gap.”
The nurse said nothing.
“I need someone to explain it.”
“I can't access those records.”
“Then take me to someone who can.”
She glanced toward the security desk.
“Wait here.”
She disappeared through a set of double doors.
I turned to Lucas.
“You knew that crying came from station four.”
“I didn't.”
“You asked about it before she even came back.”
“I remembered.”
“What?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“The room where they moved Melanie.”
My chest tightened.
“You said you didn't know where she went.”
“I didn't.”
“But now you remember.”
“I remembered the station.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
“No.”
“Then what happened there?”
He looked toward the doors.
“I saw her.”
“You already told me that.”
“No.”
His voice dropped.
“I saw her there after they said she was dead.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
He swallowed.
“I went back.”
“When?”
“Before I left the hospital.”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn't accept it.”
“Who was with you?”
“No one.”
“Did you see Melanie?”
“Yes.”
“Alive?”
He nodded.
I felt my knees weaken.
“Lucas, stop giving me pieces.”
“I know.”
“Tell me everything.”
He closed his eyes.
“She was in an incubator.”
The hallway seemed to disappear around us.
“She was breathing?”
“Yes.”
“Was there a nurse?”
“Lena.”
“What did she say?”
“She said there had been an identification problem.”
“What problem?”
“She wouldn't explain.”
“Did she say Melanie was yours?”
“She said the baby had been identified incorrectly.”
I stared at him.
“Then why did she let you believe Melanie was dead?”
“She didn't.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who did?”
Lucas looked at me.
“The doctor.”
“Which doctor?”
“I don't know.”
“You said Dr. Patel.”
“I thought it was her.”
“You thought?”
“I was exhausted.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You knew enough to tell me she was dead.”
He looked broken.
“I was told the baby in the operating room had died.”
“But you saw a baby afterward.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn't know whether it was Melanie.”
“No.”
“So you left?”
“I was told the hospital would sort it out.”
“By whom?”
He hesitated.
“Nora.”
I stared at him.
“Nora told you to leave?”
“She told me she knew what was happening.”
“How?”
“She had been talking to someone.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I heard footsteps.
The nurse returned.
“Please come with me.”
She led us through the double doors.
We passed a nurses' station and a row of closed rooms.
The farther we went, the quieter the corridor became.
At the end was a small room with a glass panel.
A handwritten sign read:
TEMPORARY INFANT HOLDING.
My heart began pounding.
The nurse unlocked the door.
There was no baby inside.
Only an empty bassinet.
A monitor.
A stack of blankets.
And a plastic hospital bracelet lying on the counter.
I picked it up.
The number printed across it was 417.
My breath caught.
Lucas stepped behind me.
“That was it.”
“What?”
“The number.”
I turned.
“This bracelet?”
He nodded.
“I saw it that night.”
“Whose was it?”
“I don't know.”
The nurse watched us.
“Where did this come from?”
She didn't answer.
“Whose bracelet is this?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because the record is sealed.”
I looked at her.
“Why would a newborn's record be sealed?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“You do.”
“No.”
“Then tell me who ordered it.”
She looked toward Lucas.
Then away.
I felt a sudden chill.
“Was it my husband?”
“No.”
“Was it Nora?”
“I can't discuss that.”
That was enough.
I placed the bracelet on the counter.
“Where is the baby?”
The nurse's face tightened.
“What baby?”
“The baby who belonged to this bracelet.”
She stared at me.
“I don't know.”
“Was the baby transferred?”
“Yes.”
“To where?”
“I can't say.”
“Why?”
“Because the transfer wasn't completed through the usual system.”
Lucas took a step forward.
“What does that mean?”
The nurse looked frightened.
“It means I don't know where the child went.”
My mouth went dry.
“You lost a baby?”
“No.”
“You just said you don't know where the child went.”
“I said I don't know.”
“That is not acceptable.”
She looked at me.
“I know.”
A door opened behind us.
Another nurse stepped into the corridor.
She saw the bracelet.
Then she froze.
“Where did you get that?”
I turned.
She was older than Mara.
Her badge read Elaine Morris.
My heart stopped.
“Morris?”
She looked at Lucas.
He stared at her.
“You're Lena's sister,” he said.
She nodded slowly.
“Where is Lena?”
“She doesn't work here.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“Because she cared for my daughter.”
Elaine looked at me.
Her expression softened.
“She tried to help.”
“What does that mean?”
“She thought something was wrong.”
“With what?”
“The babies.”
I gripped the edge of the counter.
“What happened?”
Elaine looked at the nurse beside her.
“Go.”
The younger nurse left.
Elaine closed the door.
Then she said quietly, “Your daughter was alive.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Which baby?”
“Melanie.”
Lucas shut his eyes.
Elaine continued.
“She was alive when Lena last saw her.”
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
“Who took her?”
“I don't know.”
“Then what do you know?”
Elaine looked at the bracelet.
“That number belonged to a baby who was never supposed to leave that hospital.”
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
“It means the paperwork was changed.”
“By whom?”
She shook her head.
“Lena found out.”
“And?”
“She disappeared.”
My hands began to shake.
“Where did she go?”
“I don't know.”
“Did Nora have anything to do with it?”
Elaine looked at Lucas.
He looked back at her.
Then she said something that made the room go silent.
“Nora wasn't the one who took your daughter.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: The Nurse Revealed That Nora Had Been Used as a Distraction, While the Real Person Behind Melanie’s Disappearance Had Been Standing Closer Than I Realized
Two Weeks After Burying My Newborn Daughter, I Found My Eight-Year-Old Hiding Money Away for a Reason That Made No Sense
Part 9 of 12
