Chapter 15 - Room 17Dr. Vale walked toward us.
She looked exactly as I remembered from my nightmares.
White coat.
Silver hair.
Calm eyes.
Except now I knew the nightmares weren't dreams.
They were memories.
“Emma,” she said.
I stepped backward.
“You erased me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you asked me to.”
“No.”
“You begged me.”
I shook my head.
“You're lying.”
Dr. Vale nodded.
“That is the problem with memory.”
She looked at Maya.
“It protects us from things we cannot survive.”
I held my daughter tighter.
“Tell me where the real Maya is.”
Dr. Vale smiled.
“Which one?”
The words froze me.
She continued.
“There was no original Maya.”
“What?”
“She was created.”
My husband lowered his weapon.
I looked at him.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
I wanted to hit him.
Instead, I asked:
“Why?”
He answered:
“Because someone had to raise her.”
“Why me?”
“Because you were the only person who could love her without knowing why.”
That answer nearly destroyed me.
Dr. Vale opened the door to Room 17.
Inside was a nursery.
Small.
Cold.
Three empty cribs.
Three names.
MAYA.
LUCA.
EVE.
The other Emma touched the crib marked EVE.
Her hands trembled.
“I remember this.”
“You were a baby,” I said.
“I remember the smell.”
I looked at the crib marked MAYA.
“Who was she?”
Dr. Vale answered:
“A genetic reconstruction.”
My stomach turned.
“Explain.”
“A child created from selected DNA.”
“Why?”
“To survive a disease.”
“What disease?”
“Neurological degeneration.”
She looked at Luca.
“He was born with it.”
Alessandro stiffened.
“What?”
“Your son was dying.”
“You said he was healthy.”
“He was.”
She smiled.
“Because Maya fixed him.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Maya's genetic profile contains a rare repair sequence.”
I looked at my daughter.
“She doesn't know.”
“She doesn't need to.”
Dr. Vale stepped closer.
“She was never meant to live outside this room.”
I tightened my grip.
“She is my daughter.”
“No.”
Dr. Vale's expression hardened.
“She is the cure.”
Silence.
Then the doors exploded inward.
Armed men rushed in.
Alessandro fired.
The other Emma dragged me toward the side corridor.
“Run!”
I grabbed Maya.
She looked back.
“Mommy.”
“I'm here.”
She whispered:
“I remember.”
“What?”
She pointed to Room 17.
“I was here.”
The gunfire intensified.
We escaped through a hidden door.
A narrow tunnel led beneath the hospital.
At the end stood a single steel box.
The other Emma opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Three babies.
Three mothers.
And one handwritten note.
I picked it up.
The handwriting was mine.
If you're reading this, they failed to erase me.
I stared.
Below it was one final sentence.
The child called Maya is not the one you came to save.
I looked at my daughter.
She smiled sadly.
May you like
And then whispered:
“I'm sorry, Mommy.”
