Chapter 2 - The Three Babies in the Hospital Photograph
I spent the entire night staring at the photograph.
Three babies.
Three.
I kept counting them as if numbers could somehow change.
The first boy had the same blond hair I'd seen beneath the pale-blue hat.
The second had a tiny dark mark near his eyebrow.
The third was a girl.
She was smaller than the other two.
Almost frighteningly small.
Maren was pale in the hospital bed, her eyes closed, one hand resting on the blanket.
I recognized the room.
Mercy Franklin Hospital.
I had never been there.
Or so I thought.
At 6:15 in the morning, I called the hospital archives.
The records department said the birth file was sealed.
“Why?”
“Court order.”
“Under whose authority?”
They transferred me to legal.
The answer came quickly.
“Mr. Bellamy, I'm afraid we cannot discuss a protected medical record.”
“I'm the father.”
“That does not change the restriction.”
“What restriction?”
A pause.
“The file was sealed at the request of the mother.”
Maren.
That should have made sense.
Instead, it made everything worse.
Maren had hidden the babies from me.
But why?
I drove to the hospital.
A retired nurse named Diane agreed to meet me after lunch.
She looked nervous from the moment she sat down.
“You were there,” I said.
“Yes.”
“For the birth.”
“Yes.”
“Three babies?”
She nodded.
“Triplets.”
My throat tightened.
“What happened?”
She folded her hands.
“Two boys were healthy enough to stay with their mother.”
“And the girl?”
“She was taken.”
“Taken where?”
“I was told neonatal care.”
“Was she sick?”
“No.”
Diane looked at me.
“She was tiny, but she was stable.”
“Then why was she taken?”
“I don't know.”
“You've been carrying this for a year?”
“Longer.”
She lowered her voice.
“The hospital administrator told us the infant was transferred to another facility.”
“Which facility?”
“I don't know.”
“But somebody does.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
She looked toward the restaurant window.
“Your mother.”
My blood ran cold.
“My mother was involved?”
“I saw her that night.”
“Doing what?”
“Arguing with someone in the neonatal ward.”
“Who?”
“I don't know his name.”
“What did he look like?”
“Gray hair. Expensive coat. Tall.”
“Mason?”
She shook her head.
“Not him.”
She searched her memory.
“There was one other person. A woman.”
“What woman?”
“Tessa Whitmore.”
I stood so quickly the chair fell backward.
Diane caught my wrist.
“Mr. Bellamy.”
“What?”
“Before Tessa left, I heard her say something.”
“What?”
Diane hesitated.
“She said, ‘One baby is enough to control him.’”
I couldn't breathe.
Tessa had known about the third baby.
Maybe she had known about all three.
Maybe the twins weren't the only children she had hidden from me.
I left the restaurant and drove straight to Tessa's house.
She opened the door wearing the same soft smile she had worn the day we met.
“What are you doing here?”
“Where is she?”
“Where is who?”
“The baby.”
Her smile disappeared.
I stepped inside.
“Don't lie to me.”
“Rowan—”
“Triplets.”
She went pale.
“Maren had triplets.”
“You're upset.”
“Where is the girl?”
“I don't know.”
“You know.”
“I don't.”
I grabbed the edge of the table.
“What did you do?”
She started crying.
For a second, part of me almost believed her.
Then she whispered:
“I did what I had to do.”
The words landed like a gunshot.
“What does that mean?”
“You were going to leave me.”
“I hadn't even met you yet.”
“That doesn't matter.”
I stared at her.
“You knew me before Maren and I divorced.”
Tessa closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“How?”
She said nothing.
“You worked with my mother.”
Silence.
I understood.
“You were already planning this.”
Tessa finally looked up.
“Maren was pregnant. Your mother knew you would never divorce her if you knew. She needed a reason.”
“So you framed her.”
“She was leaving you anyway.”
“No.”
“She was going to expose the business.”
“What business?”
Tessa swallowed.
“Your father's.”
My stomach dropped.
“My father is dead.”
“Not everything died with him.”
I backed away.
Tessa followed.
“Rowan, listen to me.”
“Where is my daughter?”
“She wasn't supposed to survive.”
I stared.
“What?”
“The girl was born too weak. Your mother told me she would never make it.”
“But the nurse said she was stable.”
Tessa started crying.
“Then someone took her.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“I swear.”
I reached for my phone.
“I'm calling the police.”
“You can't.”
“Why?”
“Because if you open that file, you will lose more than me.”
“What could possibly be worse?”
Her answer was barely audible.
“Your father.”
I stopped.
“My father is dead.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Your father is the reason Maren ran.”
I stared at her.
“My father died before the twins were born.”
Tessa's eyes filled with terror.
“That's what they wanted you to believe.”
That evening I drove to my father's old cabin outside Nashville.
I had not been there since I was fifteen.
Dust covered the furniture.
The place felt frozen in time.
I searched every room.
Then I found a loose floorboard.
Underneath was a locked metal box.
The key was in an envelope.
My mother's handwriting.
I opened it.
Inside was a single document.
A paternity agreement.
Signed one month before my wedding.
By my mother.
And someone else.
The signature belonged to Victor Bellamy.
My father.
The date was six months after his supposed death.
I sat on the floor.
My father had not been dead.
He had been watching.
Planning.
Controlling.
And somehow, my unborn daughter was connected to him.
Then I found another paper.
A list of names.
Tessa.
My mother.
The private investigator.
A neonatal doctor.
And one last name.
Maren Bellamy.
Except beside Maren's name was not the word victim.
It said:
Primary holder of the evidence.
I stared at it.
Maren had not simply been running.
She had been protecting something.
May you like
The question was no longer whether she had betrayed me.
The question was whether I had ever known her at all.
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