Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN IN ROOM 317
"My mother is alive?"
Elena's voice broke on the final word.
Dante didn't answer immediately.
He took the photograph and examined the timestamp.
Three days earlier.
Boston, Massachusetts.
St. Catherine's Medical Center.
"Marco," he said into his phone, "find out who this woman is registered as."
Elena grabbed his arm.
"Don't investigate her like she's a criminal. That's my mother."
Dante looked down at her hand.
Then he covered it gently with his own.
"That's exactly why we need to be careful."
Twenty minutes later, Marco called back.
The woman in the photograph was registered at the hospital under the name Anna Bell.
She had been admitted for a neurological evaluation.
Her listed emergency contact was Caroline Whitmore.
Elena felt physically sick.
"Caroline knew."
Dante's silence confirmed what she already feared.
Her aunt hadn't simply hidden the truth.
She had remained in contact with Sophia for years.
They reached St. Catherine's shortly after one in the morning.
Elena barely noticed the marble lobby or the security officers stationed near the elevators.
All she could think about was the little girl she had once been, sitting beside a bedroom window, waiting for her mother to come home.
Third floor.
Room 317.
Dante opened the door.
The hospital bed was empty.
A neatly folded blanket lay beneath the reading light.
A vase of white lilies stood on the windowsill.
Elena walked forward.
"Mom?"
No answer.
She checked the bathroom.
Empty.
Dante pressed the nurse-call button.
A nurse appeared several moments later.
"Where is Anna Bell?" he asked.
The woman glanced at the room number.
"She was discharged about forty minutes ago."
"By whom?"
"Her sister."
Elena's face went cold.
"Caroline."
The nurse looked confused.
"Mrs. Whitmore brought authorization papers. She said the patient needed to return to her long-term care facility."
"Which facility?" Dante asked.
The nurse hesitated.
Then she checked the computer.
"There's no destination listed."
Elena turned away before the nurse could see her tears.
Dante approached quietly.
"We'll find her."
"You don't know that."
"No," he admitted. "But I know someone worked very hard to keep you apart."
Elena looked back at the empty bed.
A small blue notebook lay beneath the pillow.
She reached for it.
Inside were drawings.
Some were simple flowers.
Others were rough sketches of doors and windows.
Then Elena found a drawing of a little girl wearing a yellow raincoat.
Beneath it, in uneven handwriting, were four words.
My Elena is eight.
Elena pressed the notebook against her chest.
Her mother had never stopped remembering her.
But the final page contained something different.
A hospital visitor schedule.
Most dates had Caroline's initials.
One appointment was circled in red.
Tomorrow.
2:00 p.m.
Private consultation.
Patient transfer authorization.
And beside it was a name Dante knew better than almost anyone.
Dr. Adrian Moretti.
May you like
His younger brother.
The man who had promised him nineteen years earlier that Sophia Marlo was dead.
