CHAPTER 9 — THE WOMAN IN THE HOSPITAL RECORDS
I didn't speak for the entire drive home.
Neither did James.
My father's accusation kept repeating inside my head.
Your mother.
My mother was the mastermind.
The same woman who had raised me.
The same woman who had protected me.
The same woman who had disappeared.
The same woman who had supposedly spent twenty-eight years hiding me from dangerous people.
I didn't know what to believe.
When we reached the house, James didn't enter immediately.
He stood beside the car and studied the street.
Then the rooftops.
Then the windows.
“Clear.”
We went inside.
Lauren locked the door.
My father walked directly to the kitchen.
He looked exhausted.
I followed him.
“Tell me the truth.”
He stopped.
“About your mother?”
“About everything.”
He looked at me.
“Your mother wasn't the mastermind.”
“But you said she was.”
“I said what they wanted us to think.”
“Who?”
“The people who have been watching this family.”
James entered the kitchen.
“Start with the hospital.”
My father looked at him.
“What hospital?”
“St. Mary's.”
My father's face changed.
James placed the medical record on the table.
“This says Rebecca survived the fire.”
“Yes.”
“It says the infant survived.”
“Yes.”
“It says the child was transferred under Margaret's instructions.”
“Yes.”
“Then why does Rebecca's death certificate say she died months before the fire?”
My father closed his eyes.
“Because the death certificate wasn't for Rebecca.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
He pointed to the document.
“Look at the signature.”
I did.
The name was Rebecca Anne Walker.
But the signature wasn't hers.
It was someone else's.
James noticed immediately.
“Forgery.”
My father nodded.
“Who filed it?”
“Victor Hale.”
“Why?”
“To erase Rebecca legally.”
“Why?”
“Because she was preparing to expose him.”
My father opened another folder.
Inside were hospital records.
One page showed Rebecca's admission.
Another showed the infant.
Then a third.
Unknown female patient.
Age:
27 years.
Condition:
severe trauma.
Date:
December 24, 1998.
I stared.
“Who is that?”
My father shook his head.
“We don't know.”
James studied the record.
“She was admitted the same night.”
“Yes.”
“Where did she go?”
“Transferred.”
“To where?”
“We never found out.”
I looked at the photograph of Rebecca.
Then at the hospital record.
Something felt wrong.
“Dad.”
He looked at me.
“Why does Rebecca's hospital record list her blood type as O negative?”
My father frowned.
“So?”
“My blood type is O negative.”
He stared at me.
James looked between us.
“What's your mother's?”
“A positive.”
My father went pale.
“That isn't possible.”
“What's not possible?”
He looked at the records.
Then at me.
“Rebecca wasn't O negative.”
My heart stopped.
“Then whose record is this?”
Nobody answered.
James turned the page.
At the bottom was a physician's signature.
Dr. Samuel Grant.
He looked at my father.
“Do you know him?”
My father nodded slowly.
“He was the doctor who delivered you.”
My breath caught.
“What?”
“He delivered you.”
“But I was born at another hospital.”
“That was the official story.”
James looked at him.
“So you knew the truth.”
“Yes.”
I felt tears forming.
“Where was I born?”
“St. Mary's.”
“When?”
“December 24.”
I looked at the record.
Six months old.
The dates didn't make sense.
I looked at my father.
“Then whose baby was I?”
He didn't answer.
James picked up another file.
There was a handwritten note.
Infant A — female.
Infant B — female.
Two babies.
Same night.
Same hospital.
I stared.
“Two?”
My father nodded.
“Rebecca gave birth to twins.”
My entire body went numb.
“Twins?”
“Yes.”
“Where is the other child?”
My father looked away.
“We don't know.”
Lauren entered the room.
She had heard everything.
“That's not what Victor said.”
Everyone turned.
“What did he say?” James asked.
Lauren swallowed.
“He said there was only one baby.”
My father looked terrified.
“That means Victor never knew.”
“Never knew what?”
Lauren stared at me.
“That there were two girls.”
Silence.
James immediately understood.
“One became you.”
Lauren nodded.
“And the other?”
“We don't know.”
My father sat down.
His hands covered his face.
“I thought she died.”
I whispered:
“Who?”
“Your sister.”
The word hit me like a physical blow.
My sister.
Not Lauren.
Another sister.
A twin.
Someone had been alive somewhere in the world for twenty-eight years.
Someone who shared my blood.
Someone who might know the truth.
James opened the final hospital document.
There was a note written in blue ink.
Infant B released to authorized guardian.
Guardian name:
M. Walker.
My mother's name.
I stared.
“Mom took both of us?”
My father nodded.
“Then what happened?”
“She gave one to another family.”
“Why?”
“To divide the risk.”
“Where is she?”
“We don't know.”
“Who raised her?”
“We don't know.”
Lauren looked at me.
“I might.”
Everyone turned.
She reached into her pocket.
Pulled out her phone.
“I found a photograph in Victor's files.”
She opened it.
A girl stood beside a woman.
The girl looked about twenty-five.
Same eyes as mine.
Same jaw.
Same expression.
My heart stopped.
“Who is she?”
Lauren whispered:
“I don't know.”
James took the phone.
He zoomed in.
The woman beside the girl was older.
Dark hair.
Elegant coat.
My mother.
My knees weakened.
“That's Mom.”
Lauren nodded.
“But look at the date.”
I did.
The photograph had been taken three years ago.
Three years.
My mother had told me she had never seen Rebecca again.
She had told me our family had no secrets left.
But three years ago, she had been photographed with a woman who looked exactly like me.
James looked at my father.
“Who is the girl?”
My father couldn't speak.
Then the front door opened.
All of us froze.
Footsteps entered the hallway.
Slow.
Measured.
A woman's voice came from the other room.
“She's my daughter.”
I stopped breathing.
My mother appeared in the doorway.
Her coat was wet from the rain.
Her face was pale.
But she was alive.
She looked at me.
Then Emma.
Then James.
And finally the hospital records.
“I was hoping you would never find those.”
I stepped forward.
“You have a daughter who looks exactly like me.”
My mother closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Who is she?”
She looked at me.
“My other daughter.”
My heart shattered.
“Where is she?”
My mother whispered:
“She's in danger.”
James stepped forward.
“From whom?”
My mother looked toward the window.
“From the man who has been hunting your family for twenty-eight years.”
“Elias?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Victor?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
My mother looked directly at my father.
And said:
“Rebecca.”
I couldn't breathe.
“My biological mother?”
My mother nodded.
“She survived the fire.”
“Then why would she hurt her own daughters?”
My mother's eyes filled with tears.
“Because Rebecca isn't the woman you think she is.”
James's voice became cold.
“Where is she?”
My mother looked at Emma.
“She knows about the trust.”
“And?”
“She knows the final heir has been born.”
A pause.
“And she wants Emma.”
My blood ran cold.
My mother stepped toward me.
“But not to kill her.”
“Then why?”
She whispered:
“To use her.”
Before anyone could respond, every light in the house went out.
A second later, James's phone received a photograph.
He opened it.
His face changed.
I looked over his shoulder.
It was a picture of my mother standing beside Rebecca.
And between them—
the other twin.
On the back of the photograph were five words:
BRING ME MY GRANDDAUGHTER.
Then another message appeared.
MIDNIGHT.
May you like
And beneath it:
OR THE OTHER TWIN DIES.
