Chapter 4 - The Woman in the Hospital PhotographThe Baby That Was Supposed to Be Dead
Roman's penthouse overlooked the Chicago River.
I had never been anywhere like it.
But I barely noticed.
Leo was sleeping on a sofa in a guest room while a private doctor examined him.
His fever was already falling after antibiotics.
Mine was rising from panic.
Roman stood beside the windows, speaking quietly with his lawyer.
I waited.
Finally, he returned.
"You deserve the truth."
"I've been waiting for it."
He placed a photograph on the table.
It showed Ethan.
A younger Roman stood beside him.
Between them was an older woman.
"Who is she?"
"My mother."
I stared.
She looked elegant and severe.
"What does she have to do with Leo?"
Roman turned the photograph over.
On the back was a date.
Five years ago.
The night Ethan died.
Then another photograph appeared.
A newborn infant wrapped in the same blanket from my hospital picture.
I felt dizzy.
"That's Leo."
Roman nodded.
"Ethan believed someone was trying to take his child."
"Take him where?"
"Somewhere nobody could find him."
I remembered the weeks after Leo's birth.
How strange everything had been.
How one nurse had told me not to trust the hospital records.
How another nurse suddenly disappeared.
How my room had changed three times.
I had thought it was routine.
Now I wasn't sure.
Roman showed me a copy of the birth certificate.
The father's name had been left blank.
The mother's name was mine.
But below it was a second registration number.
Different from the one on Leo's current records.
"What is that?"
"An amended record."
"Who changed it?"
Roman looked at me.
"Your signature is on it."
I stared.
"I never signed that."
"Then someone forged it."
The room felt colder.
He pulled out a second paper.
A transfer authorization.
My name.
My signature.
And one sentence:
Child transferred into protective custody.
I nearly dropped it.
"I never did this."
"I believe you."
"Then who did?"
Roman was silent.
My mind went immediately to Ethan.
"If Ethan knew Leo was in danger, maybe he had someone protect him."
Roman shook his head.
"Ethan died before he could finish whatever he was planning."
"Who helped me?"
"We're trying to find out."
A noise came from the hallway.
Roman's head turned.
One of his guards appeared.
"Mr. Vale."
"What?"
"We found this."
He handed Roman a sealed envelope.
Roman opened it.
His eyes moved across the page.
Then he looked at me.
"What?"
He handed it over.
It was a copy of a surveillance report.
Megan Bennett.
Apartment 4B.
Child Leo Bennett.
Protected by unknown female.
Last known contact with Ethan Vale: three weeks before his death.
My hands shook.
"I never told anyone Ethan was Leo's father."
Roman's face hardened.
"Exactly."
The guard spoke.
"There is more."
He placed a photograph on the table.
A woman standing outside the maternity ward.
I recognized her.
My stomach dropped.
"That's my mother."
Roman looked at me.
"Your mother was in Chicago the night Leo was born?"
I swallowed.
"My parents lived in Michigan."
"Why was she here?"
"I don't know."
Roman took the photograph.
Then another man entered.
He whispered something.
Roman's jaw clenched.
"What?"
"The woman has been identified."
Roman looked toward me.
"Your mother."
I stared at him.
"She's alive."
"Yes."
"But she told me..."
I couldn't finish.
For twenty years, my mother had told me she was afraid of cities.
She hated hospitals.
She had never wanted anything to do with Chicago.
Yet there she was.
Outside the maternity ward.
The night my son was born.
Roman's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression went completely blank.
Then he asked:
"Are you certain?"
A pause.
"Say the name."
He listened.
Then slowly lowered the phone.
"What?"
Roman looked at me.
"We found the woman who authorized the transfer of your newborn son."
My breathing stopped.
"Who?"
May you like
Roman's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Your mother."
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