CHAPTER 4 — THE SECOND BIRTH CERTIFICATE
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
The photograph remained in my hand.
A newborn baby.
Sarah in a hospital bed.
A doctor holding the child.
And the words on the back:
THE BABY IN THIS PHOTO IS NOT THE BABY YOU TOOK HOME.
I looked at Rachel.
“Tell me everything.”
She wiped her face.
“I don't know everything.”
“Then tell me what you know.”
She hesitated.
“Your father found out about the switch.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“What switch?”
“The babies.”
I stared at her.
“You're telling me Emma was switched at birth?”
Rachel nodded slowly.
“But why?”
“Money.”
I almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the answer was becoming too predictable.
“Everything comes back to money.”
Rachel shook her head.
“Not just money.”
She pointed to the photograph.
“Power.”
I looked at the newborn again.
“Where was this taken?”
“St. Mary's.”
“That's where Sarah gave birth.”
“Yes.”
“And you're saying that isn't Emma?”
“No.”
I opened the folder again.
There was a hospital discharge document.
The date matched Emma's birth.
The mother's name was Sarah Bennett.
The baby's name was listed as Emma Bennett.
But beneath it was a handwritten notation:
CORRECTION REQUIRED.
My stomach twisted.
“Why was it corrected?”
Rachel looked away.
“Because another baby was born that night.”
I stared at her.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Rachel.”
“I swear.”
“Then why does my father have these documents?”
“Because he paid someone to find the truth.”
I looked through the papers.
There were copies of hospital records.
Security reports.
Nurse schedules.
A list of staff working that night.
Then I found a handwritten timeline.
11:42 P.M. — Sarah admitted.
12:17 A.M. — Baby delivered.
12:29 A.M. — Nurse reports second emergency delivery.
12:41 A.M. — Records altered.
I looked at Rachel.
“Two babies.”
“Yes.”
“Two mothers?”
“Yes.”
“Who was the other mother?”
Rachel didn't answer.
I flipped the page.
There was a name.
Evelyn Cross.
My heart stopped.
“The woman in the photograph.”
Rachel nodded.
“Evelyn gave birth the same night.”
I looked back at the photograph.
The little girl I'd seen earlier suddenly had a face.
A mother.
A history.
And possibly a connection to my daughter.
“Then why did Sarah raise Evelyn's baby?”
Rachel's eyes filled with tears.
“She didn't know.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“She thought the baby was hers.”
“Then who switched them?”
Rachel whispered,
“Someone working inside the hospital.”
I felt sick.
“How long did my father know?”
“Almost immediately.”
“Then why didn't he tell me?”
“Because he was afraid.”
“Of who?”
Rachel looked toward the window.
“The same people who are coming for Emma now.”
I picked up the phone.
“I need to find that hospital.”
Rachel shook her head.
“They'll know.”
“I don't care.”
“You should.”
I walked toward the door.
“Michael.”
I turned.
Rachel pointed to the folder.
“There is one more thing.”
“What?”
“Look at the mother's signature.”
I frowned.
I returned to the desk.
She pointed to Sarah's signature on the discharge form.
I compared it with another document.
A property transfer.
Sarah's signature looked different.
Completely different.
“This isn't Sarah's handwriting.”
“No.”
“Who signed this?”
Rachel swallowed.
“Evelyn.”
I stared at her.
“Why would Evelyn sign Sarah's documents?”
Rachel didn't answer.
Instead, she opened another file.
Inside was a copy of Evelyn's death certificate.
I scanned it.
Then I stopped.
“Rachel.”
“What?”
“This says Evelyn died three years after Emma was born.”
Rachel nodded.
“So?”
“So you told me Evelyn died years ago.”
“I meant before today.”
“That isn't what you said.”
She looked down.
I turned the death certificate over.
There was a photograph attached.
Evelyn.
Older.
Alive.
Standing beside a man.
I recognized him immediately.
My father.
But that wasn't the worst part.
A little girl stood between them.
Four years old.
Dark hair.
White ribbon.
And beneath her ear—
the same distinctive birthmark.
My breath caught.
The little girl wasn't Emma.
She couldn't be.
The photograph was taken after Emma's birth.
Which meant—
Evelyn had another child.
And someone had been hiding her.
I looked at Rachel.
“Who is that girl?”
Rachel began crying.
“I don't know.”
“You do.”
“I don't.”
“You're lying.”
She shook her head.
“No, Michael. I'm terrified.”
“Of what?”
She pointed to the photograph.
“That girl disappeared the same week Evelyn died.”
I stared at the image.
Then I noticed something written on the back.
A date.
And a location.
June 18 — Boston Children's Hospital.
My hands went numb.
Emma was born in Boston.
Evelyn died in Boston.
The second baby had been born in Boston.
And now someone wanted Emma before her fifth birthday.
I suddenly understood why.
The switch wasn't the end of the story.
It was the beginning.
I grabbed my keys.
“We're going to Boston.”
Rachel shook her head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because that's exactly where they want you to go.”
I stopped.
“What?”
Rachel's phone buzzed.
She looked at the screen.
Her face turned white.
“What?”
She handed me the phone.
One message.
DON'T GO TO THE HOSPITAL.
Another message appeared.
THE ANSWER IS ALREADY IN YOUR HOUSE.
I slowly looked around the study.
The old desk.
The bookshelves.
The metal box.
Then my eyes landed on my father's photograph.
There was something behind the frame.
I pulled it off the wall.
A small envelope was taped to the back.
My name was written across it.
I opened it.
Inside was a key.
And a note.
OPEN THE ATTIC BEFORE YOU TRUST RACHEL.
I looked at my stepsister.
She stared at the key.
May you like
And for the first time—
I wondered if she had been telling me the truth at all.
