YOUR SON IS STILL ALIVE.
I read the message again.
Then again.
My hands were freezing.
The room suddenly felt too small.
Too bright.
Too quiet.
Across from me, Mark was smiling at Martin.
He was talking softly to our son as if nothing in the world was wrong.
“Look at those little fingers,” he said.
I watched him.
Three days earlier, that voice had been the voice I trusted most.
Now every word sounded rehearsed.
My phone vibrated again.
I almost jumped.
Another message.
Don’t confront him. He will know I contacted you.
I swallowed.
I typed beneath the blanket.
Who are you?
The reply came almost immediately.
My name is Dr. Samuel Reed. I was the pediatric resident on duty during your delivery.
I stared at the screen.
A doctor.
Someone from the hospital.
Someone who had been there.
I typed:
Why didn’t you tell me my baby was alive?
There was a long pause.
Then:
Because I was threatened.
My stomach twisted.
Before I could ask anything else, Mark looked over.
“Everything okay?”
I locked my phone.
“Yes.”
“You look pale.”
“I’m tired.”
He stood.
“I’ll call the nurse.”
“No.”
The answer came out too quickly.
Mark stopped.
I forced a smile.
“I’m just exhausted.”
He nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Something changed in his face.
He walked toward the window.
“Hello?”
I couldn’t hear the other person.
But I watched Mark’s expression.
His jaw tightened.
His shoulders stiffened.
Then he whispered:
“What do you mean they found the record?”
My heart stopped.
Mark turned toward the window.
I pretended to close my eyes.
He lowered his voice.
“No. She doesn’t know.”
Another pause.
“I said she doesn’t know.”
My heart pounded.
Then Mark said the words that confirmed everything.
“Keep the boy where he is.”
I opened my eyes a fraction.
Mark ended the call.
When he turned around, his face was calm again.
I closed my eyes.
He came to my bedside.
For several seconds, he stood there.
Then I felt his hand touch my hair.
“Everything will be okay,” he whispered.
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I stayed still.
A few minutes later, he left the room.
The instant the door shut, I grabbed my phone.
Dr. Reed had sent another message.
The baby was taken to a private neonatal facility outside Chicago.
My heart shattered.
Chicago.
That was where Mark’s mother lived.
Where Wendy owned several businesses.
Where she had connections everywhere.
I typed:
Is my baby alive right now?
His answer appeared.
Yes.
I covered my mouth.
Tears streamed down my face.
My son was alive.
Somewhere.
Without me.
I typed:
Why was he taken?
The answer took longer.
Your mother-in-law arranged a private adoption before your delivery.
I stared at the screen.
A private adoption.
Before my baby was even born.
That meant this hadn’t been an impulsive decision.
It had been planned.
Dr. Reed sent another message.
There is something else you need to know.
I waited.
Then:
Your husband was not the one who arranged the original paperwork.
My heart skipped.
Who was?
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Finally:
Wendy.
Of course.
But then another message arrived.
And she wasn’t planning to give the baby away.
I frowned.
What does that mean?
No response.
I waited.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Then my phone rang.
I nearly dropped it.
Unknown number.
I answered without speaking.
A man’s voice whispered:
“Hailey?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Samuel.”
I sat up.
“Doctor Reed?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me where my son is.”
“I will.”
“Now.”
He exhaled.
“But you need to understand something first.”
“What?”
“The adoption wasn’t really an adoption.”
I froze.
“What are you saying?”
“The agency wasn’t acting like a normal adoption agency.”
“Then what were they doing?”
Silence.
Then he said:
“They were arranging custody transfers for wealthy clients who wanted newborns without the usual legal process.”
I felt sick.
“What wealthy clients?”
“I don’t know.”
“You do know.”
“I know the name attached to the transfer.”
“What name?”
He hesitated.
Then whispered:
“Vance.”
My mother-in-law’s name.
I gripped the phone.
“Where is my baby?”
“The facility is called Northlake Infant Services.”
“Can I go there?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Wendy owns part of it.”
I felt like the floor had disappeared beneath me.
Then Dr. Reed said:
“There’s another reason.”
“What?”
“The baby wasn’t the only thing they changed that night.”
My breathing stopped.
“What else?”
He said quietly:
“They changed your medical record.”
I stared at the wall.
“What did they change?”
“The delivery report says one twin was stillborn.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I know.”
“What really happened?”
He hesitated.
“Both babies were alive.”
I closed my eyes.
A sob escaped my throat.
Both.
Both of my sons had been alive.
“Then what happened?”
“The first baby developed breathing complications.”
“Which baby?”
“The one they took.”
My heart broke.
“But he survived?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I treated him.”
I could barely speak.
“Then why did they tell me he died?”
“I don’t know all of it.”
“You know enough.”
Dr. Reed became quiet.
Then he said:
“Hailey, there is a reason I waited until now.”
“What reason?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of Wendy?”
“Of what she could do to my career.”
I whispered:
“I don’t care about your career.”
“I know.”
“Then help me.”
Another silence.
Finally he said:
“I already did.”
“What?”
“The video.”
I looked at the phone.
“You sent it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn’t keep watching you grieve for a child who was alive.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“Where is he?”
“I can get you the address.”
“Send it.”
“I will.”
He hung up.
I stared at Martin.
My surviving son was asleep.
My other son was alive.
And someone had stolen him.
I knew what I had to do.
But before I could get out of bed, the door opened.
Mark returned.
He was holding his phone.
His face was pale.
He looked at me.
Then at my phone.
“Who were you talking to?”
I smiled weakly.
“No one.”
He walked closer.
“You look frightened.”
“I’ve had a difficult few days.”
He nodded.
Then he reached into his pocket.
“Hailey…”
“Yes?”
He sat beside me.
“I need to tell you something.”
My heart pounded.
“What?”
He took my hand.
“I’ve been protecting you.”
I looked into his eyes.
“From what?”
His answer made my blood run cold.
“From my mother.”
And for the first time, I wondered whether Mark was truly my enemy…
or whether I had just discovered there were two different wars happening around me.
