Chapter 3 - The Third Crib
The court order arrived six hours later.
Saint Matthew's records office suddenly became very cooperative.
Too cooperative.
Every document was clean.
Too clean.
Triplets had supposedly never existed.
The official record stated that Maren gave birth to two boys.
No third infant.
No neonatal intensive care record.
No death certificate.
No cremation.
No burial.
Nothing.
I looked at the hospital administrator.
“Where is the original chart?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“It was destroyed according to retention policy.”
“When?”
“Recently.”
“Exactly when?”
He checked.
“Ten months ago.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
Maren stood beside me.
“What about the nurses?”
The administrator hesitated.
“Several have left.”
“Names.”
“We cannot—”
I placed a legal document on the desk.
“You're going to give me every name.”
The nurse who finally agreed to speak with us was named Lily Harper.
She met us at a coffee shop in Brentwood.
She looked terrified.
“I shouldn't be doing this.”
“You should,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because someone stole my son.”
She stared at me.
“I remember the birth.”
Maren began crying.
“Three babies,” Lily said.
“Tell us everything.”
“The first two were boys.”
“Yes.”
“The third was also a boy.”
I felt dizzy.
“Was he alive?”
Lily looked at me.
“Yes.”
My knees nearly buckled.
“He cried.”
Maren covered her mouth.
“What happened?”
“Dr. Whitaker told us there was a complication.”
“What complication?”
“Nothing serious.”
“Then why was he removed?”
“He said the baby needed observation.”
“Where?”
“NICU.”
“Was he admitted?”
“Yes.”
“Then where are those records?”
“I don't know.”
Lily leaned closer.
“But I remember something strange.”
“What?”
“Another woman came to the nursery.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“What did she look like?”
“Blond.”
Tessa.
My stomach dropped.
“Did she say her name?”
“She said she was family.”
“Was she?”
“I assumed.”
Maren grabbed my hand.
“Did you see what happened to my baby?”
Lily looked down.
“I'm sorry.”
“You know something.”
“I saw a man take him.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Describe him.”
“Tall. Dark hair. Gray suit.”
I knew that description.
Daniel Whitmore.
Tessa's brother.
I had met him several times.
He worked in private security.
“He had a badge,” Lily continued.
“What kind?”
“Hospital administration.”
“Was he really hospital staff?”
“No.”
I stared at her.
“How do you know?”
“Because I asked.”
“What happened?”
“The next morning, the badge was missing.”
I clenched my fists.
Lily continued.
“I thought the baby was being transferred.”
“Where?”
“That's what they told us.”
“To another hospital.”
“Which one?”
“No one ever told us.”
Maren began crying.
I put my arm around her.
The nurse looked at me.
“I kept one thing.”
“What?”
She reached into her bag.
A photograph.
Tiny.
A newborn with blond hair.
Three babies in a hospital bassinet.
I stared.
Three.
Not two.
The picture showed all three.
My world stopped.
“Where did you get this?”
“I took it.”
“Why?”
“Because I'd never seen triplets before.”
She smiled sadly.
“I thought it was beautiful.”
Maren touched the photograph.
“That one…”
She pointed.
“The baby on the right.”
“What?”
“He has a tiny mark above his eyebrow.”
I looked.
There it was.
A small crescent-shaped birthmark.
I remembered seeing that mark once.
During the pregnancy.
Maren had shown me an ultrasound.
Three babies.
I suddenly remembered.
And then I remembered why I had forgotten.
Tessa had told me Maren was faking the pregnancy.
She had shown me an email supposedly from a doctor claiming Maren had fabricated medical records.
I had believed Tessa.
God.
I had been such a fool.
I stared at the photograph.
“Our son is alive.”
Maren looked at me.
“Maybe.”
I nodded.
“We're finding him.”
We traced Daniel Whitmore's movements.
He had left Tennessee eleven months ago.
His phone records ended.
His bank accounts went dark.
But one payment remained.
A private property in North Carolina.
A house near Asheville.
We drove there that night.
The property was empty.
But in the garage, we found something.
A crib.
Old.
Dusty.
And on the floor beside it was a hospital bracelet.
Baby Bellamy.
Maren collapsed.
I caught her.
There were scratches on the crib.
As if someone had once tried to climb out.
I touched the wood.
My hands shook.
A third baby had slept here.
A child had been here.
And then someone had taken him.
We found a receipt hidden under the crib.
Formula.
Three cans.
Purchased three months after the birth.
My heart pounded.
Someone had been feeding a baby.
Recently.
Our baby.
Maren stared at the receipt.
“He's alive.”
I nodded.
“We have to believe that.”
Outside, a car drove slowly past the house.
I looked toward the road.
The vehicle disappeared around the corner.
“Someone is watching us.”
Maren whispered:
“Then they know we found the crib.”
I stood.
“Good.”
She looked at me.
“Good?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because now they know we're coming.”
May you like
And for the first time since the truth began unfolding, I felt something I hadn't felt in years.
Hope.
