CHAPTER 5: THE BABY BEHIND THE WALL
The crying came again.
Soft.
Weak.
But unmistakably human.
A newborn.
Behind the wall.
I stared at the bookshelf.
My mind refused to accept what my ears were telling me.
There was a baby hidden inside this room.
A baby.
My baby?
Claire grabbed my hand.
“Mommy, she's there.”
I turned toward her.
“How do you know?”
“Because I heard her last night.”
My heart stopped.
“Last night?”
Claire nodded.
“Grandma told me not to tell anyone.”
I looked at Eleanor.
“You knew.”
She didn't answer.
“You knew there was a baby behind that wall.”
Her silence was confirmation.
I stepped toward her.
“What have you done?”
Eleanor's face remained cold.
“You don't understand.”
“I understand enough.”
I pointed toward the wall.
“There's a newborn trapped behind there.”
“She's not trapped.”
“Then open it.”
Eleanor looked at my father.
My father looked at Adrian.
Adrian looked at the floor.
Nobody moved.
I screamed.
“OPEN THE WALL!”
My voice shook the room.
The baby cried again.
This time louder.
I couldn't stand there anymore.
I ran toward the bookshelf.
My father grabbed my arm.
“Wait.”
I ripped my arm away.
“That's my child.”
“You don't know that.”
“I don't care!”
I pushed the bookshelf.
It moved slightly.
Behind it was a narrow wooden panel.
I searched for a latch.
Nothing.
Then Claire whispered,
“There's a button.”
She pointed beneath the lowest shelf.
I pressed it.
Click.
The panel opened.
A wave of cold air hit my face.
Behind the wall was a tiny hidden room.
No window.
No proper door.
Just a crib.
A lamp.
A stack of blankets.
And a newborn baby lying alone.
I stopped breathing.
The baby's tiny face was red from crying.
Her fists were clenched.
Her blanket was slipping from her shoulder.
I reached inside.
“Baby…”
My voice broke.
I lifted her.
She immediately stopped crying.
Her tiny fingers curled around mine.
Something inside me shattered.
I knew her.
Not logically.
Not medically.
Something deeper.
A mother knows.
I looked at the baby's face.
Then at the newborn in my other arm.
Two babies.
Two daughters.
Both alive.
But there was something different about this one.
A tiny crescent-shaped birthmark beneath her left ear.
I remembered it.
Six years ago, during my pregnancy, I had dreamed about that mark.
I had told Adrian.
He had laughed.
Now it was real.
I turned toward my father.
“She's mine.”
He didn't deny it.
“She is.”
Adrian stepped backward.
“No.”
I looked at him.
He was staring at the baby.
“What?”
He shook his head.
“That isn't possible.”
“Why?”
“Because…”
He stopped.
My father finished the sentence for him.
“Because that baby was supposed to be dead.”
I felt cold.
“Who told you that?”
Adrian looked at Eleanor.
She finally spoke.
“Everyone was told the same thing.”
I looked between them.
“Then why was she hidden?”
No answer.
I walked toward Eleanor.
“Why?”
She looked at the newborn.
“Because she was never supposed to exist.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
Eleanor's voice lowered.
“Your father knew about the trust.”
“Yes.”
“But he didn't know about the third clause.”
“What third clause?”
She looked at my father.
His face tightened.
Eleanor smiled.
“The twins weren't the only beneficiaries.”
My father stepped forward.
“Stop.”
“No.”
Eleanor pointed at the newborn.
“There was a third child.”
The room went silent.
I stared at her.
“Third?”
She nodded.
“A child born under a different identity.”
I looked down at the baby.
“Her?”
“Yes.”
My father shook his head.
“She wasn't part of the original pregnancy.”
Eleanor laughed.
“That's what you think.”
She looked at me.
“Your pregnancy wasn't with twins.”
My blood turned cold.
“It was triplets.”
I couldn't breathe.
Three babies.
Not two.
Three.
I looked at Claire.
She had been listening silently.
“Where's the third?”
Eleanor smiled.
“You already know.”
I stared at her.
“No.”
“Yes.”
She pointed toward my newborn.
Then Claire.
Then the baby in my arms.
“Those are the three.”
My mind reeled.
“But I only gave birth to two.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“No.”
She glanced at my father.
“You were told you gave birth to two.”
Dr. Hayes's words came rushing back.
The records.
The altered documents.
The missing photograph.
The switched babies.
None of it made sense.
Then my father suddenly said,
“Because the third baby was delivered first.”
I looked at him.
“And?”
“You lost consciousness.”
I remembered.
The hospital lights.
The pain.
The doctors shouting.
Then darkness.
“When you woke up,” he continued, “you were told there were only two.”
“Why?”
“Because one baby had been taken before you regained consciousness.”
My stomach twisted.
“Taken by who?”
My father looked at Eleanor.
Eleanor looked at Adrian.
Adrian whispered,
“I don't know.”
My father laughed.
“You still don't understand.”
He walked toward the hidden room.
“That baby was never meant to leave the hospital.”
I looked down.
The newborn was staring up at me.
Her eyes were open.
Dark.
Alert.
Almost impossibly calm.
I kissed her forehead.
“Who took her?”
My father didn't answer.
Then a gunshot exploded somewhere downstairs.
Everyone jumped.
Claire screamed.
My father grabbed the hidden door.
“We have to go.”
“No.”
I refused.
“I am not leaving without knowing.”
“Emma!”
“Who took my baby?”
He looked at me.
His expression changed.
“The person who took her…”
He paused.
“…was your mother.”
I froze.
“My mother is dead.”
“So you were told.”
The room tilted.
I could barely stand.
“My mother?”
“She isn't dead.”
I looked at Eleanor.
She looked equally stunned.
“That isn't possible.”
My father shook his head.
“I thought she died too.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because I found her.”
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
My heart pounded.
“Where is she?”
He hesitated.
“Here.”
I looked around.
“Where?”
A voice answered from the hidden passage.
“I'm here.”
Every person in the room froze.
A woman stepped from the darkness.
She was old.
Pale.
Her hair was silver.
She leaned against the wall.
I stared at her face.
I knew it.
Even after twenty years.
My mother's eyes.
My mother's mouth.
The small scar above her eyebrow.
I whispered,
“Mom?”
She smiled.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
I couldn't move.
I couldn't breathe.
My father stepped backward.
Eleanor raised her gun.
Adrian looked completely lost.
Claire stared at the woman.
The woman looked at the three babies.
Then she said something that made my blood freeze.
“I didn't take your third daughter.”
She looked directly at Eleanor.
“She did.”
Eleanor's gun trembled.
My mother continued.
“She told me the child had died.”
Eleanor shouted,
“Enough!”
My mother laughed.
“You've been lying for twenty years.”
I looked at Eleanor.
“What does she mean?”
Eleanor's face twisted.
“Your mother doesn't know anything.”
My mother stepped forward.
“I know everything.”
Then she reached inside her coat.
She pulled out a small photograph.
She handed it to me.
It showed three newborn babies.
All wrapped in white blankets.
All alive.
On the back was a handwritten date.
The day I gave birth.
And beneath it were three names.
CLAIRE.
EMILY.
AND...
I stared at the third name.
My hands began shaking.
It wasn't a name.
It was a word.
PROPERTY.
I looked up.
“What does this mean?”
My mother whispered,
“The third baby was never entered into the hospital records.”
“Why?”
“Because she wasn't supposed to be a person.”
I felt sick.
“What does that mean?”
My mother looked toward the hidden room.
“She was created for the Whitmore family.”
Silence.
Then footsteps thundered in the hallway.
Someone was coming.
My father looked toward the door.
“We're out of time.”
My mother grabbed my wrist.
“You need to listen carefully.”
“Why?”
“Because the people coming upstairs aren't here for your daughters.”
I stared at her.
“Then who are they here for?”
She looked directly at me.
“You.”
The hallway went silent.
Then a man's voice came through the locked nursery door.
“Emma.”
I knew the voice.
It was the same voice from the recording.
But now it was closer.
Much closer.
“Open the door.”
My mother whispered,
“That's the man who ordered your daughter's disappearance.”
I looked at her.
“Who?”
She swallowed.
Then said:
“Your own brother.”
I froze.
“My brother died when I was twelve.”
My mother shook her head.
“No.”
She looked toward the door.
“He survived.”
Then the lock began turning.
And Claire suddenly screamed:
“Mommy, don't open it!”
May you like
Too late.
The door opened.
