Chapter 1 - The Signature
The ink was still wet when Derek came back.
Luka Moretti had just finished writing his name across the preliminary birth-record worksheet when I heard my husband’s shoes striking the hospital floor behind us.
Fast.
Angry.
Coming closer.
“What the hell is going on?”
I turned.
Derek stood twenty feet away beside Brittany Cole, the woman he had chosen to leave the hospital with less than ten minutes earlier.
Brittany was wearing a cream cashmere coat over a fitted red dress.
My husband’s hand was still wrapped around hers.
For one strange second, none of us moved.
Derek stared at Luka.
Then at the paperwork.
Then at the newborn in my arms.
His entire face changed.
Not anger.
Not jealousy.
Fear.
Pure fear.
“You,” Derek whispered.
Luka slowly turned toward him.
“You know me?”
Derek’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Brittany grabbed his sleeve.
“Derek.”
It sounded like a warning.
Luka noticed.
So did I.
My heart began beating harder.
“You two know each other?”
“No,” Derek answered too quickly.
Luka gave him a cold smile.
“That wasn’t what your face said.”
The nurse took the document from Luka.
“Mr. Moretti, I need to be clear,” she said nervously.
“This is the hospital’s preliminary parentage worksheet. It is not a finalized legal birth certificate.”
Luka nodded.
“I know.”
“You cannot establish legal paternity simply by signing this.”
“I know that too.”
Derek stepped forward.
“Then erase it.”
Luka looked at him.
“No.”
“This is my child.”
For the first time since Derek had returned, I found my voice.
“You walked away from her.”
His head snapped toward me.
“That doesn’t change biology.”
Luka’s eyes narrowed.
Something about that sentence interested him.
“Biology,” he repeated.
Derek froze.
Brittany tightened her grip on his arm.
I looked between them.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
Derek moved toward me.
“Emma, give me the baby.”
I stepped backward.
“No.”
“She is my daughter.”
“You left us.”
“I was angry.”
“You brought your mistress into the maternity ward.”
Brittany rolled her eyes.
“This is getting ridiculous.”
Luka looked at her.
“Then leave.”
Brittany went silent.
There was something about Luka that made people obey even when he never raised his voice.
Derek tried another approach.
“Emma, you’re exhausted.”
“I am.”
“You’ve been through labor.”
“I have.”
“You’re emotional.”
I stared at him.
“And yet I’m still smart enough to know you abandoned your newborn daughter.”
His jaw hardened.
“That man has no right to be standing beside you.”
Neither do you, I thought.
But before I could say it, the nurse’s computer beeped.
Once.
Then again.
She frowned.
“What?”
I asked.
She leaned toward the screen.
“That’s strange.”
Luka instantly moved closer.
“What?”
The nurse clicked twice.
“The baby’s digital chart is locked.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“Probably nothing.”
But her voice told me it was not nothing.
She entered another password.
The screen flashed red.
ACCESS RESTRICTED.
Beneath it was a code.
M-17.
Luka stopped breathing.
I felt it.
A tiny change in him.
Almost invisible.
But real.
Derek saw it too.
And suddenly my husband lunged toward the computer.
“Close that.”
Luka stepped between him and the desk.
“Why?”
“It’s private medical information.”
“You were walking out of the building five minutes ago.”
Derek’s face darkened.
“I said close it.”
The nurse backed away.
I stared at the screen.
M-17.
The same code Luka had mentioned.
My daughter shifted softly in my arms.
Her tiny fingers curled around the fabric of my gown.
“What is M-17?”
I whispered.
Nobody answered.
Not Luka.
Not Derek.
Not Brittany.
That frightened me more than anything.
Because all three of them knew something.
And I knew nothing.
Luka turned to the nurse.
“When was this restriction created?”
She hesitated.
“I’m not authorized—”
“When?”
Something in his voice changed.
She swallowed.
“Forty-seven hours ago.”
My skin went cold.
Almost exactly when my labor had started.
“Who created it?”
The nurse checked the audit line.
Then frowned.
“That’s impossible.”
“What?”
“The user profile no longer exists.”
Derek moved toward the exit.
Luka caught his arm.
Not violently.
Just firmly enough to stop him.
“Where are you going?”
“Take your hand off me.”
“Answer me.”
Derek stared at him.
For the first time in seven years of marriage, I saw my husband look genuinely powerless.
Then Brittany spoke.
“We need a lawyer.”
Luka released Derek.
“No.”
His voice was quiet.
“You need several.”
Derek’s face went white.
He took Brittany’s hand.
This time, when he walked away, he did not look at me.
He looked at Luka.
And Luka watched him until the elevator doors closed.
Then I whispered,
“You knew he would come back.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Luka looked at my daughter.
“Because he just confirmed something I hoped I was wrong about.”
My throat tightened.
“What?”
Luka reached inside his coat and removed an old photograph.
The picture was faded.
A younger Luka stood beside a man I recognized immediately.
My father.
Behind them was a laboratory sign.
MORETTI REPRODUCTIVE RESEARCH ARCHIVE - 2001
I stared at it.
“My father was an accountant.”
“No,” Luka said.
“He wasn’t.”
I looked at him.
“Then who was he?”
Luka turned the photograph over.
Someone had written three characters across the back in black ink.
M-17.
Then Luka said the words that destroyed everything I thought I knew about my family.
“Your father was the man who made sure nobody could ever use my DNA.”
May you like
He looked toward the elevator where Derek had disappeared.
“And apparently someone found a way around him.”
