Chapter 2 - Sebastian Revealed That His Newborn Son Had Disappeared Seventeen Years Ago—But One Detail About Baby Boy Miller Made Him TerrifiedThe next morning, Sebastian was still in the NICU.
He hadn't slept.
I knew because his eyes were red.
I knew because every time the baby stirred, he immediately looked up.
I knew because at seven-thirty, he asked me the same question he had asked at four in the morning.
“Is he gaining weight?”
“Slowly.”
“How long until he's stable?”
“We don't predict that accurately with a premature infant.”
He nodded.
He wasn't satisfied.
But he trusted the answer.
That mattered.
I brought him coffee.
He held it with both hands.
“Thank you.”
“You don't have to stay all day.”
“I know.”
“You have people outside.”
“I know.”
“You have businesses.”
“Yes.”
“You're apparently terrifying.”
A tiny smile.
“Apparently.”
I sat beside him.
“Tell me about Luca.”
His face went still.
I almost apologized.
Instead, he said:
“His mother was named Elena.”
I knew the name.
Everyone in the city knew it.
Elena Moretti had disappeared seventeen years earlier after giving birth.
Officially, she had suffered postpartum complications and left the hospital.
Unofficially, rumors said she had been connected to Sebastian's enemies.
Nobody knew.
“What happened?”
“I believed she took him.”
“Why?”
“She disappeared first.”
“And the baby?”
“Gone two hours later.”
I frowned.
“From the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Sebastian looked at the baby.
“That is what no one ever explained.”
I checked Baby Boy Miller's chart.
His mother had been admitted under an alias.
No father listed.
No family.
The infant had been born at twenty-nine weeks.
There had been no identification band matching the mother's name.
Just “Baby Boy Miller.”
I looked up.
“Why was he called Miller?”
“Temporary designation.”
“I know.”
Sebastian stared at me.
“What are you thinking?”
“I don't know yet.”
I returned to the chart.
His blood type.
A negative.
I checked the old records from seventeen years ago.
Luca Moretti's blood type.
A negative.
That wasn't proof.
Plenty of babies had the same blood type.
But I couldn't stop myself from looking.
I checked the timing of Sebastian's visits.
He had been at Pine Valley before.
According to security records, he had entered the hospital twice in the past month.
Both times, he had requested the NICU.
Both times, he had left after twenty minutes.
Why?
I searched the volunteer notes.
Blank.
The baby had been born three weeks before.
His mother had disappeared after delivery.
The same pattern.
The same hospital.
The same city.
And a missing newborn seventeen years earlier.
I began comparing medical details.
Luca had been born at thirty weeks.
Baby Boy Miller at twenty-nine.
Luca had a small crescent-shaped birthmark near his left shoulder.
The current infant had a faint pale mark in exactly the same place.
I stopped.
That could be coincidence.
I told myself it was.
Then I checked another record.
Luca's neonatal chart said his mother had blood type O positive.
The abandoned baby's mother was O positive.
Still coincidence.
Then I noticed a line in the old chart.
Infant unable to tolerate standard formula.
I looked at bed nine.
Baby Boy Miller had the same issue.
My heartbeat accelerated.
I brought the old record to Dr. Elena Marquez.
She read it.
Her face changed.
“You see it too.”
“Maybe.”
“No.”
She pointed.
“It's not just the formula.”
“What?”
“The reaction pattern.”
I looked again.
Luca had experienced severe feeding intolerance.
The same respiratory response.
The same glucose fluctuations.
The same unexplained sensitivity to one particular medication.
Baby Boy Miller had the same pattern.
I felt a chill.
Two infants.
Same hospital.
Same mother blood type.
Same birthmark.
Same unusual medical reaction.
Seventeen years apart.
I went to Sebastian.
“Can I ask you something?”
He looked up.
“Anything.”
“Did Luca have a mark on his left shoulder?”
His expression changed instantly.
“How do you know?”
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
“What shape?”
“A crescent.”
I looked toward bed nine.
Sebastian stood.
“No.”
I shook my head.
“We haven't confirmed anything.”
He walked to the incubator.
The baby had been turned slightly.
I moved the blanket just enough to see.
The pale crescent appeared near the left shoulder.
Sebastian stopped breathing.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
Then he whispered:
“That's him.”
I couldn't answer.
He shook his head.
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“That's my son.”
I looked at him.
“Sebastian, we need proof.”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
But his hands were shaking.
The baby moved.
His fingers curled.
Sebastian placed one hand against the incubator.
“I knew it.”
“Don't get ahead of yourself.”
“I knew when I saw him.”
“How?”
“He makes the same sound.”
I stared at him.
“What sound?”
“Like he's trying to cry without waking anyone.”
I swallowed.
The NICU suddenly felt colder.
Sebastian looked at me.
“Please.”
“Please what?”
“Find out if that's my son.”
I nodded.
“We will.”
He looked down again.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“Who?”
A pause.
“Where?”
Another pause.
“Lock the hospital down.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?”
His eyes met mine.
“Someone tried to access the baby's records.”
I looked toward the computer.
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
“Could be hospital staff.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the person used an account that belonged to someone who died sixteen years ago.”
My stomach dropped.
May you like
He looked at the baby.
“The past just found him.”
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