Chapter 7: The Third Baby
For a moment, I thought I had misunderstood Officer Bennett.
“A third infant?”” I repeated.
She nodded, looking down at the records in her hands.
“The original delivery notes mention three separate newborn identification numbers. Two were later included in the transfer paperwork. The third was removed from the hospital's digital system.””
Laura covered her mouth.
Ethan stood beside her, clutching his lunchbox, watching the adults speak in voices that sounded increasingly frightened.
I crouched beside him.
“Hey, buddy. Why don't you go sit in the living room with Officer Bennett's colleague? We'll be right here.””
Ethan looked at Laura.
“Am I adopted?””
Laura's face crumpled.
She knelt and took his hands.
“Yes, sweetheart.””
“Did you know my real mommy?””
Laura closed her eyes.
“I knew some things about her.””
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because I was afraid of hurting you.””
Ethan pulled his hands away.
“You always say that when you don't want to answer.””
The words were so simple, so painfully honest, that nobody spoke.
Laura began to cry.
Ethan turned and walked into the living room.
I watched him go, feeling the familiar ache of a child discovering that the adults responsible for protecting him had been hiding something important.
Then I turned toward Officer Bennett.
“Tell me about the third infant.””
She opened the folder.
“According to the original delivery notes, a nurse recorded three separate heartbeats during a late prenatal assessment. However, the attending physician's final report lists only two babies. The third identification number appears on a handwritten sheet that was never entered into the official birth registry.””
“Who wrote it?””
“An attending nurse named Patricia Sloan.””
“Where is she now?””
“Retired. She lives about forty miles from here.””
I glanced at the documents.
“And the third baby?””
“We don't know whether the infant was born alive, whether there was a medical emergency, or whether the handwritten entry was an error. We're trying to locate the original records.””
I looked at Vanessa's letter again.
If both babies survive, I cannot bring them both home.
The words seemed even more sinister now.
Had she known there were three?
Had she planned to conceal one child and then discovered there were two more?
Or had someone used her desperation to arrange something far more elaborate?
I couldn't make the pieces fit.
Officer Bennett's phone rang.
She answered, listened, and her expression changed.
“What do you mean the file is missing?””
She turned away from us, speaking quietly.
“Yes. I understand. Check the archived records again.””
A pause.
“No, don't contact anyone listed in the transfer documents until we know who altered them.””
She ended the call and slipped her phone into her pocket.
“What happened?”” I asked.
“The hospital's legal department located a box of archived delivery records. Someone accessed it yesterday morning, before we requested the files.””
“Who?””
“They're checking the visitor logs.””
I felt cold.
“Yesterday morning was before I found the room.””
“Correct.””
“Someone knew we were going to discover this.””
Officer Bennett didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
My mind returned to the hidden button beneath the paint. The concealed room. The ropes. The fact that Rebecca had survived six months in a place where someone could have silenced her permanently.
Someone had been managing this secret for years.
And someone was still protecting it.
I looked toward the living room, where Ethan sat alone on the couch.
“Can I ask you something?”” I said.
“Of course.””
“If there really was a third child, what happens now?””
“We follow the evidence.””
“And if that child is alive?””
“Then we find them.””
I nodded, but the answer didn't bring me comfort.
Three babies.
Possibly three families.
And no guarantee that any of us knew the truth about the children we had raised.
We returned home that afternoon after the police finished collecting the records from Laura's house.
My sister, Claire, had taken Elijah to the park. She brought him back just after four, carrying a paper bag of sandwiches and wearing the concerned expression she'd developed since learning that my marriage was unraveling.
Elijah ran toward me.
“Daddy!””
I knelt and caught him.
He smelled of grass and peanut butter.
For a moment, I simply held him, listening to his excited account of the ducks he'd fed and the enormous dog he'd seen chasing a tennis ball.
Then he stopped talking.
“Daddy, are you sad?””
I brushed his hair away from his forehead.
“A little.””
“Because of Mommy?””
I nodded.
He thought about that.
“Did I do something wrong?””
“No, buddy. Not one thing.””
He leaned against me.
“Can we still make pancakes on Sunday?””
The question nearly broke me.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Every Sunday, if you want.””
He smiled faintly.
Then Claire called him into the kitchen to wash his hands.
I watched him go before returning to the dining table, where Officer Bennett had left copies of the records for me to review.
At the bottom of one page was a name I hadn't noticed before.
Patricia Sloan.
Beneath it was a handwritten note.
Infant C transferred to temporary protective custody at 02:40. Authorization received by telephone.
No receiving institution.
No guardian's name.
Just a signature.
I called Officer Bennett.
She answered immediately.
“I found another note.””
I read it to her.
She went quiet.
“Can you send me a photograph?””
I did.
A minute later, my phone rang again.
“We've found something,” she said.
“The hospital's old telephone logs show that the authorization call came from a number registered to a private residence.””
“Whose residence?””
“Your wife's parents.””
I sat down.
Vanessa's parents had died within two years of each other, long before Elijah started preschool. Her father had suffered a stroke. Her mother had died after a long illness.
I'd known them both.
Her father, Robert, had been a respected attorney. He was the sort of man who wore expensive watches and spoke quietly enough that everyone leaned in to hear him.
Vanessa had always described him as strict but fair.
Now I wondered what else she'd left out.
Officer Bennett continued.
“There's more. The telephone number was disconnected in 2022, but it appears in another document from the Northbridge Children's Trust.””
“What document?””
“A payment authorization.””
My stomach tightened.
“Payment for what?””
“An unnamed child placement.””
I looked at the handwritten note.
“Could Robert have arranged the third infant's transfer?””
“It's possible.””
“Was he involved with the foundation?””
“We're investigating that connection.””
I hung up and stared at the page.
A memory surfaced.
Three years earlier, Vanessa and I had visited her childhood home to clear out the last of her mother's belongings. In a locked desk drawer, I'd found a small envelope containing photographs of newborn babies.
Vanessa had snatched it from my hand before I could look closely.
She'd said they were medical photographs her father had collected during his legal work.
I hadn't questioned her.
That evening, I called my sister.
“Claire, do you remember when we cleared out Vanessa's parents' house?””
“Of course. Why?””
“Did you see any old baby photographs in the study?””
She paused.
“I remember an envelope. Vanessa took it away before we finished sorting the desk.””
“Did you see what was inside?””
“No. But I remember she looked terrified.””
I closed my eyes.
Another secret.
Another moment I'd mistaken fear for grief.
Then Claire said something that made my blood run cold.
“Daniel, there's something I never told you about that day.””
“What?””
“When Vanessa came back from the study, she asked me whether I'd ever heard of a children's home called St. Agnes.””
I sat perfectly still.
“St. Agnes?””
“Yes. She asked if I knew where it was. When I said no, she told me to forget she'd mentioned it.””
I grabbed a pen and wrote down the name.
“Did she say anything else?””
Claire hesitated.
“She said her father had promised that no one would ever find the children.””
My hand stopped moving.
“Children? Plural?””
“Yes.””
I looked at the three identification numbers.
A.
B.
C.
Then I heard a small voice behind me.
“Daddy?””
Elijah stood in the doorway, holding a folded sheet of paper.
“What's that, buddy?””
He unfolded it.
It was a drawing of three little boys standing beside a house.
One wore a blue shirt.
One wore a green shirt.
The third wore a red shirt.
Above them, Elijah had written three names in uneven letters.
ELIJAH.
ETHAN.
NOAH.
I stared at the last name.
“Who is Noah?””
Elijah shrugged.
“I don't know. I just remembered it.””
My heart hammered against my ribs.
“Where did you hear that name?””
He pointed toward the living room.
“Mommy's old music box. The one you put in the closet.””
I stood so quickly my chair fell backward.
Vanessa had kept a small wooden music box from her childhood. It played a slow, delicate melody and contained a photograph of her parents.
I'd packed it away after her mother's death.
I hadn't opened it in years.
I hurried to the closet, pulled the box from the shelf, and opened the lid.
The music began to play.
Beneath the velvet lining was a folded piece of paper.
Three names were written on it in Vanessa's father's handwriting.
Elijah.
Ethan.
Noah.
May you like
And beneath them was a sentence that made the room spin.
Three sons. Three promises. Only one may come home.
