Chapter 8 - NoahWe drove through the night.
I didn't tell my mother where we were going.
I didn't trust her.
I barely trusted myself.
Claire sat beside me, holding the photograph.
Evelyn remained at home under police protection.
My unborn child was still inside her.
I didn't want to leave her.
But every minute mattered.
At 4:37 a.m., we reached St. Vincent.
The building was abandoned.
Windows boarded.
Grass growing through cracks in the parking lot.
Claire checked the photograph.
“The sign matches.”
We entered through a side door.
Inside, everything smelled like bleach.
A hallway stretched into darkness.
Then we heard a child's voice.
“Mom?”
I froze.
Claire grabbed my arm.
“Don't run.”
The voice came again.
“Mom?”
I followed it.
At the end of the hallway was a small room.
A boy sat on the floor.
Dark hair.
Brown eyes.
Blue sweater.
He looked up.
For one impossible second, I couldn't breathe.
I knew him.
Not because I had met him.
Because I had seen my own face in his.
The boy stood.
“Who are you?”
My voice broke.
“My name is Julian.”
He stared.
“Are you my dad?”
I couldn't answer.
Claire covered her mouth.
Then a man appeared behind the boy.
Dr. Marcus Hale.
He held a syringe.
“Step away from him.”
I moved forward.
“Let my son go.”
Marcus smiled.
“He's not your son.”
I stared at Noah.
The boy looked terrified.
“Dad?”
Marcus pressed the syringe against his neck.
“Take another step and he gets sedated.”
I froze.
“Why are you doing this?”
Marcus sighed.
“Because the children are valuable.”
I clenched my fists.
“What does that mean?”
He laughed softly.
“You think this is about adoption?”
“No.”
“You're finally starting to understand.”
He pulled Noah behind him.
“The people who funded this program don't care who the parents are.”
“Who?”
Marcus looked at me.
“Your mother.”
My blood ran cold.
“No.”
“Yes.”
My mother had funded part of the clinic.
But that wasn't the worst revelation.
Marcus continued.
“Your father tried to shut us down.”
“And you killed him.”
Marcus didn't deny it.
“He chose his side.”
“Then what about Noah?”
“He was leverage.”
“Against whom?”
Marcus smiled.
“Against you.”
I heard footsteps behind me.
I turned.
My mother stood in the doorway.
She was holding a gun.
“Marcus.”
He smiled.
“You came.”
I stared at her.
“You knew where he was.”
“I had to.”
“You lied to me.”
“I had to.”
She pointed the gun at Marcus.
“Put the syringe down.”
Marcus laughed.
“You still think you have a choice?”
My mother looked at me.
Then at Noah.
Then she whispered:
“Julian, take the boy.”
I stepped forward.
Marcus moved.
A gunshot exploded through the hallway.
Noah screamed.
The lights went out.
When they came back on, Marcus was gone.
So was Noah.
But on the floor lay a single object.
My mother’s wedding ring.
She stared at it.
Then whispered:
“He took him.”
I looked at her.
“What did you do?”
May you like
She answered with a sentence I would never forget.
“I traded Noah for you.”
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