Chapter 2 — The Two Birthdays
Luca Moretti did not go home that night.
He returned to his office instead.
At eleven forty-three, the top floor of Moretti Global was almost completely dark.
The city glittered beyond the glass.
Traffic moved like thin ribbons of light below.
Chicago looked exactly the way it always did from that height.
Cold.
Beautiful.
Distant.
Luca usually loved the view.
Tonight, he couldn't stand it.
He stood beside his desk with a photograph in his hand.
Not a photograph of the twins.
A photograph of Nia.
Seven years old in the past.
She was standing beside him at a charity dinner, smiling toward the camera.
He had once thought he knew every expression on her face.
He had been wrong.
He sat down.
Then he looked at the note his attorney had left on his desk.
Two words were underlined.
Original records.
Luca reached for the phone.
“Call Dr. Harrison.”
His assistant hesitated.
“Now?”
“Now.”
A minute later, the call went through.
“Mr. Moretti?”
“This is about my old fertility records.”
There was a pause.
“What about them?”
“I want every original document.”
“We already sent the summary.”
“I don't want the summary.”
Luca's voice sharpened.
“I want what existed before anyone summarized anything.”
The doctor was silent.
Finally:
“I'll have to request them from the archive.”
“Do it.”
“Mr. Moretti, this is a seven-year-old case.”
“I know.”
“Some records may have been transferred.”
“Then find out where.”
The doctor hesitated.
“Is this because of your divorce?”
Luca looked toward the city.
“No.”
He thought of two pairs of dark eyes.
“This is because I met my children today.”
Silence.
Then:
“Excuse me?”
Luca ended the call.
He didn't explain further.
He wasn't ready.
Not even to himself.
At six the next morning, Nia woke before the children.
She lay still for a moment.
She could hear the soft hum of the heating system.
Then a tiny cough came from the bedroom down the hall.
She smiled despite herself.
Motherhood had trained her to recognize every sound.
Mia's sleepy cough.
Leo's restless turning.
The tiny sound they made when they were dreaming.
She got out of bed.
By the time she entered their room, Mia was sitting upright with tangled hair.
“Mom.”
“Good morning.”
“Is breakfast ready?”
Nia laughed.
“You haven't even washed your face.”
Mia considered that.
“Can I wash after breakfast?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because that's not how mornings work.”
Leo was still asleep.
Nia walked over and brushed his hair from his forehead.
He looked peaceful.
For one second, she saw Luca.
The resemblance was getting stronger.
She had tried not to notice it.
She couldn't anymore.
Leo opened one eye.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Are you thinking about the man from yesterday?”
Nia froze.
Children noticed more than adults thought.
“Why?”
“You got quiet after we left.”
She smiled.
“I was just tired.”
Leo studied her.
“Was he somebody important?”
Nia sat on the edge of the bed.
“He was important once.”
Mia hugged her pillow.
“Was he a bad person?”
Nia paused.
“No.”
The word came more quickly than she expected.
“He wasn't bad.”
“Then why don't we know him?”
Nia looked toward the window.
Because he had chosen not to know them.
But she couldn't say that.
Not yet.
So she kissed Mia's forehead.
“Get dressed.”
The children groaned together.
For the next half hour, the house returned to normal.
Breakfast.
Backpacks.
Shoes.
Missing socks.
A debate about cereal.
And for a little while, Nia could pretend yesterday had never happened.
Then her phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
Unknown number.
She almost ignored it.
Something made her answer.
“Hello?”
No one spoke.
Nia waited.
“Hello?”
A man's voice finally came through.
“Mrs. Carter?”
Her body went cold.
“Yes?”
“You need to keep your children away from Luca Moretti.”
Nia's hand tightened around the phone.
“Who is this?”
“You don't know me.”
“Then why are you calling?”
“Because I know what happened seven years ago.”
Nia said nothing.
The man's voice lowered.
“You were told to disappear.”
The call ended.
Nia stared at the screen.
She looked toward the kitchen.
Leo was trying to pour juice.
Mia was laughing.
Her children.
Her entire world.
She immediately moved toward them.
“Put your coats on.”
Leo frowned.
“Why?”
“We're leaving.”
“Where?”
“I'll explain in the car.”
She didn't know where they were going.
She only knew one thing.
Someone else knew their story.
Across town, Luca was looking at the same year.
Seven years ago.
He had opened the old calendar from his office.
December.
He counted backward.
One event stood out.
The final fertility appointment with Nia had occurred on December 11.
Their divorce had been finalized shortly after.
And now he knew the twins were six.
The dates lined up.
He reached for a legal pad.
He wrote:
Nia's last appointment — December 11.
Divorce filed — December 19.
Twins born — six years ago.
Then he stopped.
Something didn't fit.
The twins were born in late summer.
That meant conception occurred around early winter.
Exactly when his marriage had begun collapsing.
His mind returned to the final weeks with Nia.
She had seemed exhausted.
Quiet.
He had assumed she was emotionally overwhelmed by the failed treatments.
He hadn't considered anything else.
He remembered one night.
She had stood in the kitchen.
A mug in her hands.
She had tried to say something.
He had taken a business call.
When he came back, she was gone.
Luca closed his eyes.
What had she been trying to tell him?
His phone rang.
He answered.
“Yes.”
His chief legal officer spoke.
“We found the archive.”
Luca sat up.
“Where?”
“Northwestern's medical records storage.”
“Can you access the originals?”
“Yes.”
“Go there.”
“I've already sent someone.”
“No.”
Luca stood.
“I'll go myself.”
The medical archive was in a plain brick building that looked nothing like the prestigious hospital connected to it.
No polished marble.
No important names on the walls.
Just rows of locked files.
Luca met the records manager in a narrow office.
She looked nervous.
“You requested the Moretti-Carter fertility records?”
“Yes.”
She placed a folder on the table.
“These were sealed.”
“Why?”
“They were transferred under a confidentiality request.”
“Whose request?”
She looked at the document.
“Your office.”
Luca frowned.
“My office?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Seven years ago.”
“That isn't possible.”
She turned the folder toward him.
There was a signature.
Luca stared.
His own.
But he had never signed it.
The records manager spoke carefully.
“The system shows an authorization from your executive office.”
“Who submitted it?”
“We're still checking.”
Luca opened the folder.
The first page was the fertility assessment.
Nia Carter.
Age thirty-one.
Married.
No definitive fertility disorder.
He froze.
He read it again.
No definitive fertility disorder.
There was a recommendation for additional monitoring.
Nothing more.
He turned the page.
Hormonal levels.
Ultrasound.
Follow-up instructions.
Everything was normal enough to continue treatment.
Luca looked up.
“Where's the diagnosis?”
“What diagnosis?”
“The one saying she couldn't conceive.”
The records manager frowned.
“There isn't one.”
Luca's voice dropped.
“I was shown a report.”
“Then that report wasn't the original.”
His hands tightened around the folder.
He kept reading.
The final original note said:
Patient advised to continue attempting conception naturally unless otherwise indicated.
No infertility diagnosis.
No warning.
No statement that pregnancy was impossible.
Luca slowly sat down.
For seven years, he had carried a conclusion that hadn't existed in the original record.
He turned another page.
A notation appeared.
Additional review requested by outside physician.
“Who?”
The records manager checked.
“An external consultant.”
“Name?”
She turned the screen toward him.
Luca read it.
Then felt his stomach tighten.
He knew the name.
Dr. Adrian Cole.
His closest friend.
His trusted adviser.
The man who had sat beside him during the divorce and told him he was “making the responsible decision.”
Luca stared at the page.
“Why was he reviewing her records?”
“We don't know.”
“Find out.”
“We're trying.”
“No.”
His voice became cold.
“Find out everything.”
Nia drove without turning on the radio.
The twins sat quietly in the back.
Leo looked out the window.
Mia hugged her backpack.
After ten minutes, Leo spoke.
“Mom.”
“Yes?”
“Are we in trouble?”
“No.”
“Then why are we leaving?”
Nia tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
“Because I got a strange phone call.”
“From who?”
“I don't know.”
Mia asked:
“Was it Daddy?”
Nia's chest tightened.
“No.”
She had never used that word with them.
Not once.
Mia looked at Leo.
Then back at her mother.
“Then who is Daddy?”
Nia couldn't answer.
Not while driving.
Not with the past returning this quickly.
She changed the subject.
“We're going to see Aunt Claire.”
Leo smiled.
“Can we stay there?”
“Maybe.”
Nia's phone vibrated.
A message appeared.
One sentence.
He has your records.
Her blood turned cold.
Another message followed.
He knows the children may be his.
Then:
You need to tell him before someone else does.
Nia stared at the screen.
She stopped at a red light.
For years, she had protected Leo and Mia by keeping them away from Luca.
She had believed distance was enough.
Now she realized distance had only bought time.
Someone knew.
Someone was talking.
Someone was pushing the truth toward the surface.
And Luca—
Luca was already looking.
That afternoon, Luca returned to Moretti Global.
He didn't go home.
He didn't call Evelyn.
He didn't tell anyone what he had found.
He went straight to Adrian Cole's office.
Adrian looked up.
“Luca.”
He smiled.
“What's going on?”
Luca closed the door behind him.
“We need to talk.”
Adrian's smile faded.
“About what?”
“The fertility report.”
Silence.
Adrian slowly sat down.
“What about it?”
Luca placed the original record on the desk.
“This says Nia was never diagnosed infertile.”
Adrian looked at the page.
He didn't speak.
Luca's voice became quiet.
“You told me she was.”
Adrian raised his eyes.
“I said the doctors believed there was a significant problem.”
“No.”
“You were trying to have children for years.”
“I know what we were doing.”
Luca leaned forward.
“You told me the problem was probably Nia.”
Adrian's jaw tightened.
“I didn't make the decision for you.”
“But you influenced it.”
“Luca—”
“Why were you reviewing her records?”
Adrian's expression changed.
“I was helping.”
“Helping whom?”
A long silence.
Finally, Adrian said:
“Your family.”
Luca stared at him.
“Which member?”
Adrian looked away.
“Your father.”
The room became silent.
Luca stepped backward.
“My father was involved?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I don't know everything.”
“Then tell me what you know.”
Adrian swallowed.
“He wanted you to marry Evelyn.”
Luca's expression hardened.
“That doesn't explain the medical report.”
“No.”
Adrian looked at him.
“It explains why some people wanted you to believe the marriage had failed.”
Luca's blood went cold.
“Some people?”
Adrian said nothing.
Luca slammed the original file onto the desk.
“Who changed the report?”
Adrian closed his eyes.
“I don't know.”
“Then find out.”
“You don't understand.”
“Try me.”
Adrian looked at him.
“The report wasn't changed after you divorced her.”
Luca froze.
“When?”
“Before.”
“How long before?”
Adrian whispered:
“Three weeks.”
Luca stared.
Three weeks before the divorce.
Someone had planned this.
He thought about Nia's face.
Her silence.
Her attempts to reach him.
The nights she had waited.
He had assumed she was afraid of losing him.
Maybe she had been afraid of losing something else.
Luca looked at Adrian.
“Did Nia know?”
“No.”
“Did you ever tell her?”
“No.”
“Did my father know about the pregnancy?”
Adrian looked shocked.
“Pregnancy?”
Luca went still.
“You heard me.”
Adrian slowly shook his head.
“I didn't know she was pregnant.”
Luca stared at him.
Neither man spoke.
Then Luca realized something.
If Adrian didn't know—
and the original records had no fertility problem—
there was only one question left.
Who had known before he did?
That evening, Nia arrived at Claire's apartment.
Claire opened the door.
The instant she saw Nia's face, she knew.
“He found you.”
Nia stared.
“You knew this would happen?”
Claire stepped aside.
“I knew someday it would.”
Nia brought the children inside.
Leo and Mia ran toward the living room.
Claire hugged them.
Then looked at Nia.
“What happened?”
“Luca saw them.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“I was afraid of that.”
“He has the medical records.”
Claire nodded.
“And someone called me.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
Claire's expression hardened.
“Then they're moving faster than I thought.”
Nia looked at her.
“What does that mean?”
Claire took a breath.
“It means this was never only about infertility.”
Nia froze.
“What?”
Claire reached for an old box on a shelf.
Inside was a folder.
Nia stared at it.
“What is that?”
“The file I kept.”
“About what?”
Claire looked directly at her.
“Your pregnancy.”
Nia's heart began pounding.
“But you told me everything was routine.”
“It was.”
“Then why keep a file?”
“Because there was something unusual.”
“What?”
Claire opened it.
A photograph.
A laboratory request.
A handwritten note.
Nia read the note.
Do not release results to the patient.
Her hands went cold.
“Who wrote this?”
Claire shook her head.
“I never knew.”
Nia stared at the paper.
Seven years ago, someone had instructed a medical office to withhold information from her.
Not Luca.
Not the doctor she remembered.
Someone else.
Claire reached into the box again.
She pulled out another envelope.
“This arrived the week your twins were born.”
Nia opened it.
Inside was a single card.
No signature.
Only a sentence.
Let Luca believe the marriage ended for the reason he already fears.
Nia's eyes filled with tears.
She looked at Claire.
“Who wrote this?”
Claire said nothing.
Because she didn't know.
But there was something else inside the envelope.
A second card.
Nia turned it over.
Three words were written across the back.
The twins survive.
Nia's face went pale.
She looked toward Leo and Mia.
For the first time in six years, she allowed herself to consider the possibility that the secret surrounding her children had never been only about Luca.
Someone had wanted them hidden.
Someone had known they existed.
And someone had been afraid of what would happen if Luca found out.
Across the city, Luca stood alone in his office.
On his desk lay the original fertility report.
Beside it was a photograph he had printed that morning.
Leo.
Mia.
Nia.
He stared at the children.
Then at the date.
Six years ago.
Then at one final document his investigator had just delivered.
The investigator had found the original birth record.
Luca read the names.
His breathing stopped.
Mother: Nia Carter.
Father: Not listed.
But beside the missing father's name was a handwritten notation.
One line.
Paternity information withheld at mother's request.
Luca closed his eyes.
Nia had not accidentally hidden the children.
She had made a legal decision to conceal their father's identity.
Why?
He picked up the phone.
“Find me Nia Carter.”
His investigator replied:
“We already have an address.”
Luca hesitated.
“Don't approach her.”
“Sir?”
“I'll do it myself.”
He looked again at the photograph.
He had spent seven years believing Nia had betrayed him.
Now he wasn't sure who had betrayed whom.
And one question had become impossible to ignore.
Why would the woman who once loved him so deeply choose to let her own children grow up without ever knowing his name?
Luca stood.
For the first time since the divorce, he wasn't going after Nia to demand answers.
May you like
He was going after her because he was beginning to fear the truth.
And somewhere across Chicago, Nia was beginning to fear that the truth had already found her.
