Chapter 5 - Two BoysI stared at Rachel.
“You're lying.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“You said there was a switch.”
“Yes.”
“And that I was given another baby.”
“Yes.”
“Then where is my son?”
Rachel closed her eyes.
“I don't know.”
I slapped the table.
“You don't get to say that.”
“I deserve your anger.”
“You deserve worse.”
David stepped between us.
“Start at the beginning.”
Rachel nodded.
“Your delivery was complicated.”
“I know.”
“You lost a lot of blood.”
“I know.”
“You were unconscious for several hours.”
I looked at David.
He looked confused.
Rachel continued.
“While you were unconscious, your father-in-law arrived.”
“Why?”
“He had already received a false laboratory report claiming David wasn't Oliver's father.”
David clenched his fists.
“Who created it?”
“Karen.”
Karen's name felt poisonous.
Rachel continued.
“But the baby wasn't the only problem.”
She opened an old file.
“Your father-in-law had arranged for a private genetic test.”
The results had shown that Oliver was biologically related to Vanessa but not David.
That result was also false.
The sample had been switched.
But before Rachel could expose it, she received a threat.
“If you tell anyone,” Rachel said, “the baby disappears.”
“And he did.”
Rachel nodded.
“While Vanessa was unconscious, another newborn was brought into the recovery ward.”
My breathing stopped.
“The nurses were told it was your baby.”
“Who signed the paperwork?”
Rachel looked at David.
“Your mother.”
Elizabeth.
“She believed she was protecting you.”
“Protecting us?”
“She believed the infant was unsafe.”
“Why?”
“Because your father-in-law believed there was a scandal coming.”
“What scandal?”
Rachel hesitated.
Then she handed me another document.
It was an old newspaper article.
The headline read:
BENNETT FAMILY HEIR AT CENTER OF SECRET ADOPTION DISPUTE
I scanned it.
There was mention of a missing newborn.
A private adoption.
A lawsuit.
And then one sentence jumped out.
The infant was reportedly born at Riverside Memorial on March 15.
My hands began shaking.
“That's Oliver's birthday.”
“Yes.”
“So another baby disappeared that same day?”
“Yes.”
“Who was the baby's mother?”
Rachel stared at me.
“I don't know.”
“Then find out.”
“There was no record.”
“How?”
“Because the record was erased.”
My entire body went cold.
“By whom?”
Rachel didn't answer.
David did.
“My father.”
Silence.
Then Rachel pulled out another photograph.
Two newborns.
Side by side.
Wristbands visible.
One said:
BABY BOY COLE
The other:
BABY BOY 314
I couldn't breathe.
“What's 314?”
“The room where the exchange took place.”
I stared at the second baby.
“That's him.”
Rachel nodded.
“The baby you gave birth to was placed in another hospital wing.”
“And the other baby was brought to me?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you let it happen?”
Rachel began crying.
“Because I thought it would keep your baby alive.”
“You thought?”
“I was threatened.”
“With what?”
“My daughter.”
I froze.
Rachel had a daughter.
At the time, she was thirteen.
“She was kidnapped for six hours.”
My anger faltered.
“I was told that if I didn't cooperate, she would disappear permanently.”
“So you switched them.”
“Yes.”
“And then what?”
“I tried to track your biological son.”
“What happened?”
“He was taken out of the state.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“Then what's the point of any of this?”
Rachel looked at me.
“Because I know what happened next.”
She opened another folder.
Inside were photographs of a boy.
Not Oliver.
A boy with dark hair.
About eight years old.
My knees nearly gave out.
“Who is that?”
Rachel said:
“His name is Ethan.”
David moved closer.
“Ethan what?”
“Ethan Harrington.”
My heart exploded.
“The Harrington family.”
Rachel nodded.
“The people who received your baby.”
I stared at the photograph.
The boy looked frightened.
He was standing beside an elegant woman.
Behind them was a large white house.
“Where is he now?”
Rachel shook her head.
“He disappeared.”
“What?”
“Three years ago.”
I couldn't breathe.
“What happened?”
“He was declared dead.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“No.”
Rachel whispered:
“There was no body.”
Suddenly David's phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
No one spoke.
Then a child whispered:
“Dad?”
David went completely still.
The voice came again.
“Dad, please don't let them take me.”
David dropped the phone.
I stared at him.
“Who was that?”
He looked at me.
His face was white.
“I don't know.”
Then the phone rang again.
This time there was a text.
A location.
May you like
And one sentence.
Your son is alive.
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