Chapter 6 - THE NIGHT MY DAUGHTER WAS BORN
Claire had left me one final instruction.
Don't take Noah away from the people he loves.
Even now, knowing how badly I'd failed her, she was thinking about the children before herself.
I sat on the edge of Emma's bed, holding the photograph.
My daughter had fallen asleep.
Her small hand rested against mine.
I studied her face.
For five years, I'd imagined fatherhood as a prison.
Now I couldn't imagine anything more important than protecting this tiny girl from another broken promise.
The next morning, investigators interviewed a former nurse from the hospital where Claire delivered the twins.
Her name was Susan Parker.
She'd retired two years earlier.
When she saw Claire's photograph, her expression changed.
"I remember her."
Rachel leaned forward.
"Why?"
"Because she kept asking about her son."
My heart stopped.
Susan looked at me.
"She'd been told the baby boy died shortly after delivery."
I swallowed.
"But he hadn't?"
Susan shook her head.
"I saw him alive in the nursery later that morning."
My entire body went cold.
"What happened?"
"An administrator told me the boy was being transferred for specialized treatment. I questioned it because the paperwork didn't match."
"Who signed the transfer?"
Susan hesitated.
"Vanessa Whitmore."
My fists tightened.
Rachel touched my arm.
"Michael."
I forced myself to breathe.
"Keep going."
Susan looked frightened.
"Vanessa came into Claire's room that night. They argued."
"About what?"
"I couldn't hear everything."
She paused.
"But Claire kept saying, 'You cannot take my son.'"
I covered my mouth.
"Then what happened?"
"Security was called. Vanessa left through the service entrance."
Rachel asked another question.
"Did Claire ever see the baby again?"
Susan lowered her eyes.
"Not at the hospital."
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Susan opened her handbag.
"I kept something."
She removed a small plastic identification band.
Blue.
Faded.
Printed with a newborn's name.
BENNETT, BABY BOY.
My hands shook as I took it.
I had missed his birth.
His first breath.
His first cry.
And while I'd been celebrating business deals, Claire had been fighting alone to keep our children together.
Susan looked at me.
"There's another reason I remembered that night."
I looked up.
"What?"
"Someone came to the hospital claiming to be the baby's father."
My heart stopped.
"Who?"
Susan hesitated.
"A man named Daniel Whitmore."
The room spun.
"He said Claire had signed authorization for him to handle the baby's medical decisions."
I stared at her.
"Did she?"
"No. She insisted he had no right."
Then Susan whispered:
"Daniel told the staff that you had died in a plane crash."
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Daniel had told Claire I was dead.
He had told hospital staff he was acting in my place.
And he'd taken my son.
But Susan's next sentence was worse.
"Mr. Rivers, Claire tried to call you that night."
My heart broke.
"Did she reach me?"
Susan shook her head.
"Someone answered your phone."
I already knew who.
Daniel.
Then she said:
"He told her you wanted nothing to do with either baby."
And suddenly, I understood.
May you like
Daniel hadn't merely hidden my children.
He'd made sure Claire believed I'd abandoned them twice.
