Chapter 3: Two Birth Certificates, One Terrible Lie
I couldn't speak.
The phone pressed against my ear, but Daniel's words seemed to come from somewhere far away.
Two newborn babies.
Two mothers.
One hospital.
And someone had switched them.
I looked at Emma, who was watching me with wide, terrified eyes.
"Daniel," I whispered, "are you telling me that Lily isn't your daughter?""
"No," he said quickly.
"I'm telling you I don't know anymore.""
The answer was worse than any accusation.
For eight years, my brother had raised Lily as his own. He had celebrated her birthdays, taught her to ride a bicycle, held her through nightmares, and kissed her scraped knees.
If the baby he had brought home from the hospital wasn't the child he believed her to be, then every memory of those eight years had suddenly become tangled in a question nobody could answer.
But there was something else.
Something I couldn't ignore.
"Why didn't you tell me about Rebecca?""
Daniel made a strained sound.
"Because I thought it was over.""
"What was over?""
"Everything.""
I stared at the photograph in my hand.
"Daniel, start talking. Right now.""
He was quiet for so long that I thought he might hang up.
Then he began.
Eight years earlier, Daniel's wife, Sarah, had gone into labor unexpectedly at thirty-six weeks. She had been admitted to St. Catherine's Medical Center shortly before midnight.
Rebecca Whitmore had arrived at the same hospital that evening.
She was unmarried, frightened, and alone.
According to Daniel, the two women had shared a hallway while the nurses prepared their rooms. Sarah had spoken to Rebecca briefly. She had even offered to call someone for her.
Rebecca had smiled and declined.
By dawn, both women had delivered healthy baby girls.
Sarah's daughter had been named Lily Grace Bennett.
Rebecca's daughter had been named Emma Grace Whitmore.
But Rebecca died from complications shortly after delivery.
At least, that was what the hospital records said.
Daniel told me that he and Sarah had been devastated when they learned about Rebecca's death. Sarah had even asked whether anyone had contacted the woman's family.
Nobody had.
Then, three days later, a hospital administrator informed them that a clerical error had been discovered in the newborn records.
The hospital insisted that everything had been corrected.
Daniel and Sarah were given their daughter.
They went home.
They built a life around the child they believed was theirs.
"Why would you suspect a switch?"" I asked.
"Because six months ago, I found something in Sarah's old papers.""
My throat tightened at the mention of my late sister-in-law.
"What did you find?""
"A letter from a woman named Rebecca Whitmore.""
I looked at the photograph again.
"What did it say?""
"It said she believed someone had taken her baby. She wrote that she had survived the complications, but when she woke up, her daughter was gone. The hospital told her the baby had died.""
My stomach turned.
"But you said Rebecca died.""
"That's what the records said.""
"Then how did she write the letter?""
"That's what I wanted to know.""
I pressed my free hand against my forehead.
"Why didn't you go to the police?""
"I tried to investigate privately. The hospital records were sealed, and the administrator who handled the case had retired. Every person I contacted gave me a different explanation.""
"Daniel, this is insane.""
"I know.""
"No, you don't understand. Brenda was standing on her porch this morning, screaming at a child who might not even be the girl she claims to be. She said that child was supposed to be dead.""
"I know what she said.""
"How?""
He didn't answer.
Then he whispered, "Because she said the same thing to me last night.""
I gripped the steering wheel.
"What?""
"Brenda called me after midnight. She said something had gone wrong and that the girl was asking questions she shouldn't be asking.""
I looked at Emma.
She was staring at her hands, silently crying.
"Which girl?"" I asked.
"She wouldn't tell me.""
"Daniel, are you saying Brenda had both children?""
"I don't know. But I think she knows what happened.""
I looked at the note again.
Claire, if you ever find this, don't trust Brenda.
The handwriting was unmistakably Daniel's.
"Why is your handwriting on the back of this photograph?""
Daniel inhaled sharply.
"What photograph?""
"The one Emma gave me. It's a picture of Rebecca holding a baby at the hospital. You wrote a message on the back.""
He fell silent.
"Daniel?""
"That's impossible.""
"I'm looking at it.""
"No," he whispered.
"I burned that photograph years ago.""
A chill crept up my spine.
"Why would you burn it?""
"Because I thought it was evidence of something terrible. Because I was afraid of what it meant.""
"Then why would you write that message?""
"I didn't.""
I stared at the words.
The writing looked exactly like his.
The slant of the letters. The way he crossed the letter t. The small loop at the end of his name.
It was his handwriting.
Or someone had copied it perfectly.
"Where are you?"" I demanded.
"At home.""
"Stay there. I'm bringing Emma to you.""
"No!"" His voice rose so sharply that Emma flinched.
"Claire, don't bring her here.""
"Why not?""
"Because Brenda knows where I live.""
"She's your sister-in-law, Daniel. Of course she knows where you live.""
"No, you don't understand."" His breathing became uneven.
"Someone came to my house last night.""
I went still.
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"Who?""
"I
