Chapter 7: The Second Daughter
The door slammed upstairs hard enough to shake the picture frames along the hallway.
My father and I stared at each other.
Neither of us moved.
Then he grabbed his phone and called the number that had appeared on the screen.
It rang once.
Twice.
A recorded voice informed him that the number was unavailable.
"Daniel!"" he shouted into the phone, as though his brother might somehow hear him.
"Call me back!""
I hurried toward the staircase.
"Emily, wait!"" my father called.
But I was already climbing.
The upstairs hallway was empty. Vanessa's bedroom door stood open, and the drawers inside had been pulled out, their contents scattered across the carpet.
Her jewelry box lay overturned beside the bed.
The wardrobe was nearly empty.
I stepped into the room and noticed a small white envelope on the dresser.
My name was written across it.
Inside was a photograph of a little girl standing in front of a hospital window. She looked about six years old, with dark hair, a serious expression, and a silver crescent pendant around her neck.
On the back, someone had written:
Rebecca Carter. October 14.
I stared at the photograph.
Rebecca.
The name meant nothing to me.
But the little girl wore my mother's necklace.
I turned the photograph over again, searching for another clue. Beneath the handwriting, almost hidden by a crease, was a hospital identification number.
I took a picture of it and called my father.
"Dad, come upstairs. Now.""
He arrived within seconds.
When I showed him the photograph, his face changed.
"Where did you find this?""
"On Vanessa's dresser.""
He took the photograph and examined it under the light.
"Rebecca," he whispered.
"You know her?""
He shook his head, but his eyes told me something else.
"Tell me.""
My father sat on the edge of the bed.
"When Daniel was young, he used to talk about wanting a daughter. He said he wanted to name her Rebecca if he ever had one.""
I looked at the little girl again.
"Maybe he did.""
"Emily, the date on this photograph is from six years ago.""
"Then she could be alive now.""
He rubbed his forehead.
"Why would Vanessa have a photograph of her?""
I remembered Daniel's words.
Emily isn't the only child whose birth records Vanessa changed.
My stomach tightened.
"Because Rebecca might be another child she tried to erase.""
My father stood so abruptly that the mattress springs creaked.
"We're going to the hospital.""
"Which hospital?""
"The one where you were born. The one Margaret worked at.""
We found Margaret at home an hour later. When she opened the door and saw the photograph in my father's hand, her expression collapsed.
"Oh, no," she whispered.
"You know this child?"" I asked.
Margaret stepped aside and let us enter.
She led us into a small living room crowded with books and family photographs. On a shelf above the fireplace stood a picture of a younger Margaret holding a newborn in a hospital blanket.
She took the photograph from my father and sat down.
"Rebecca was born seven years after you," she said.
"Her mother was a patient at the maternity ward. A young woman named Claire Bennett.""
"Was Daniel the father?"" my father asked.
Margaret hesitated.
"I can't say that with certainty. But Daniel visited the hospital several times after Rebecca was born.""
"Why?"" I asked.
"Because Claire disappeared shortly after the birth, and Rebecca was placed in temporary care. Daniel believed the child was his.""
My father gripped the arm of his chair.
"Why wasn't I told?""
"Because you weren't the only person who was told Rebecca had died.""
I felt a cold knot forming in my stomach.
Margaret continued.
"Vanessa arrived at the hospital with documents claiming that Rebecca had been transferred to a private care facility. She said the family had arranged it. The paperwork appeared legitimate, and the transfer was approved.""
"Who signed it?"" I asked.
Margaret looked at me.
"I did.""
The room fell silent.
My father stood.
"You helped her?""
Margaret's eyes filled with tears.
"I believed I was helping a child get the care she needed. I didn't know the documents had been falsified. When I discovered the discrepancy, the file had disappeared.""
I could see the shame on her face.
"Did you ever see Rebecca again?""
"Once.""
"When?""
"Six years ago. A woman came into the hospital asking for me. She showed me a photograph of a little girl and asked whether I remembered her.""
"Was it Claire?""
Margaret nodded.
"She looked frightened. She said someone had told her Rebecca was dead, but she had discovered that the death certificate belonged to another child.""
My father leaned forward.
"Where is Claire now?""
"I don't know. She gave me an address, but when I went there, the house was empty.""
"Do you still have it?""
Margaret rose and walked to a cabinet. She removed an old diary and turned several pages.
Then she stopped.
"This is the address.""
She wrote it on a piece of paper and handed it to my father.
He stared at it.
"That's twenty miles from here.""
"We should go," I said.
Margaret shook her head.
"Not without understanding what you're walking into. Vanessa didn't merely hide a child's records. Someone helped her. Someone with access to the hospital's legal department and the local registry.""
My father looked at the photograph.
"Who?""
Margaret lowered her voice.
"Your family's attorney.""
I frowned.
"Mr. Whitmore?""
She nodded.
"He's the one who certified the documents used to transfer Rebecca. He also witnessed the amendment to your birth certificate.""
My father looked as though someone had struck him.
"Whitmore has been our lawyer for thirty years.""
"Then perhaps it's time you asked him what he signed," Margaret replied.
We drove to the address that afternoon.
The house stood at the end of a quiet street, behind a rusted iron gate. The garden had grown wild, and newspapers lay scattered beneath the porch.
My father knocked.
No answer.
He knocked again.
A curtain shifted in the front window.
Then a woman opened the door.
She was older than my mother would have been, with tired eyes and a thin scar running from her chin to her jaw.
"Can I help you?""
My father held up the photograph.
"We're looking for Claire Bennett.""
The woman stared at the image.
Then she looked at me.
Her face crumpled.
"Emily?""
I froze.
"How do you know my name?""
She stepped backward, gripping the doorframe.
"Because I've been waiting for you.""
My father moved toward her.
"Are you Claire?""
She nodded slowly.
Then she looked over her shoulder, toward the dark hallway behind her.
"Come inside," she whispered.
"But you need to understand something before we talk.""
She closed the door behind us and locked it.
"Rebecca isn't the only child Vanessa took.""
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Claire reached for a photograph on the mantelpiece.
It showed three little girls standing together in a hospital nursery.
One had a silver crescent pendant.
One wore a red ribbon.
And the third had my father's eyes.
May you like
Claire placed the photograph in my hands.
"Vanessa didn't just change your birth records, Emily. She switched three babies on the night they were born.""
