Chapter 13 - The Letter From the Missing Nurse

# Chapter 13 - The Letter From the Missing Nurse

"Mr. Mercer, if you are reading this, someone has finally discovered what happened in the delivery room. But before you accuse your wife, you must understand one thing: Claire Mercer was not the only woman who gave birth that night."

Detective Harris stopped reading.

I stood motionless in the hospital corridor, the telephone pressed against my ear.

"What did you just say?"

Harris repeated the sentence.

My chest tightened.

"Another woman?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Patricia Lane didn't identify her in the opening paragraph."

"Then keep reading."

There was a rustling sound as Harris unfolded the remaining pages.

"For six years, I have lived with what I witnessed. I was told the arrangement was legal. I was told both mothers had agreed. I was told the children would be safer if the records were changed."

My hands began trembling.

"None of those assurances justified what happened."

Harris paused again.

"Detective, please."

He continued.

"The infant transferred to Ashcroft House was not recorded under her birth mother's name. Her identification band was replaced, and the original admission documents were removed before the morning shift."

I closed my eyes.

Sophie.

The little girl who looked exactly like Lily.

The child someone had hidden behind false medical records.

"What else?" I whispered.

Harris's voice became quieter.

"I do not know where the child is now. I do know that Dr. Adrian Bell supervised the transfer, and that a woman named Vanessa collected the child from the neonatal unit."

My stomach turned.

Vanessa.

Again.

"There is one more thing Mr. Mercer deserves to know. The second mother was not a stranger to his family."

I stopped breathing.

"Who was she?"

Harris hesitated.

"The letter doesn't say."

I gripped the phone.

"Then what does it say?"

He took a breath.

"The truth is in the original surgical records. Look for the patient whose name was removed from Operating Room Three."

I returned to Claire's bedside.

She was awake, watching the door.

"Dan?"

I sat beside her.

"Patricia Lane left a letter."

Her expression changed.

"The nurse?"

I nodded.

"She says another woman gave birth the same night you did."

Claire stared at me.

For several seconds, she seemed unable to speak.

"Another woman?"

"Yes."

"And Sophie?"

"We don't know which mother gave birth to her."

Claire looked down at the blanket.

I watched her carefully.

"Do you remember anyone else in the maternity ward?"

She shook her head.

"I barely remember arriving."

"Think."

"Daniel, I was in pain. I was frightened. Everything happened so quickly."

I took her hand.

"I'm not blaming you."

She looked at me.

"Then why do you sound like you are?"

The question stopped me.

I had spent days interrogating my wife.

Every new discovery made me suspicious.

Every missing detail felt like another lie.

But Claire had endured eighteen months of captivity. Her memories of that period and of the traumatic delivery years earlier were fragmented.

I couldn't keep treating uncertainty as proof of deception.

"I'm sorry," I said.

She lowered her eyes.

"I know you need answers."

"I do."

"So do I."

I squeezed her hand.

"Then we'll find them together."

For the first time that morning, she looked relieved.

But the relief vanished when I mentioned Operating Room Three.

Claire's fingers tightened around mine.

"What did you say?"

"Operating Room Three."

She stared at me.

"That's where they took me."

My pulse quickened.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded.

"I remember the number above the doors."

I leaned forward.

"Did you see another patient?"

Claire closed her eyes.

For several seconds, she said nothing.

Then she whispered, "I heard someone screaming."

My stomach tightened.

"Another woman?"

"I think so."

"What was she saying?"

Claire's breathing quickened.

"She kept saying they couldn't take her baby."

At eleven that morning, Detective Harris obtained authorization to examine the hospital's archived surgical records.

The original hospital had closed its maternity department four years earlier.

Some records had been digitized.

Others were stored in a climate-controlled warehouse outside the city.

I wanted to accompany the investigators.

Harris refused.

"Daniel, this is evidence collection."

"It's my family."

"I understand."

"Then let me help."

"You can help by identifying people and documents when we ask you to."

I rubbed my forehead.

"How long will it take?"

"We've already requested the relevant files."

"Are they still there?"

"We'll find out."

He hesitated.

"There's something else."

"What?"

"We recovered a photograph from Patricia's house."

My heart accelerated.

"Of Sophie?"

"No."

"Then who?"

"A woman."

I felt a chill.

"The second mother?"

"Possibly."

"Send it."

A moment later, my phone vibrated.

I opened the image.

A young woman stood outside the maternity ward, wearing a loose gray cardigan over a hospital gown.

Her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun.

She looked exhausted.

One hand rested protectively over her abdomen.

I didn't recognize her.

But something about her face seemed familiar.

The eyes.

The shape of her mouth.

I enlarged the photograph.

Then I noticed the necklace around her neck.

A delicate silver chain.

A small pendant shaped like a crescent moon.

I had seen that necklace before.

Not recently.

Years ago.

In an old photograph inside my father's study.

I remembered Richard standing beside a young woman at a charity event.

She wore the same pendant.

I had asked him who she was.

He told me she was a former employee.

Nothing more.

Now I wondered whether that answer had been another lie.

"Detective," I said, "I think my father knew this woman."

At one thirty, I called Marcus.

He answered immediately.

"Daniel."

"Do you remember a woman who used to work for Richard?"

"Which woman?"

"Dark hair. Younger than him. Wore a crescent-moon necklace."

Silence.

Then Marcus asked, "Where did you see her?"

"In a photograph."

"What photograph?"

"Marcus."

He sighed.

"Describe her."

I told him.

When I finished, he said nothing for several seconds.

Then he whispered, "Natalie."

My pulse accelerated.

"Natalie who?"

"Natalie Cross."

"Who was she?"

Marcus hesitated.

"She worked in Richard's private office."

"When?"

"About eight years ago."

I frowned.

"That was before his supposed death."

"Yes."

"Why did she leave?"

Marcus's voice became guarded.

"She resigned."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Did Richard have a relationship with her?"

Silence.

My stomach tightened.

"Marcus."

"Daniel, your father had a complicated personal life."

I closed my eyes.

"Was Natalie his mistress?"

A long pause.

Then Marcus said, "Yes."

I felt sick.

Another secret.

Another woman.

Another child.

"Did she become pregnant?"

Marcus didn't answer.

That was enough.

"Was Richard the father?"

"I don't know."

"Where is Natalie now?"

"I haven't seen her in years."

I stared at the photograph.

"Marcus, a woman named Natalie Cross may have given birth on the same night as Claire."

His breathing changed.

"What?"

"Six years ago."

"That's impossible."

"Why?"

He hesitated.

"Because Natalie disappeared before Richard's funeral."

My pulse quickened.

"Disappeared?"

"Yes."

"Was she declared dead?"

"No."

"Did anyone look for her?"

Marcus lowered his voice.

"Richard told me she'd left the country."

I closed my eyes.

Of course he had.

At three, I met Detective Harris at his office.

He had spread several documents across a conference table.

"Daniel, we found Natalie's employment records."

I sat down.

"And?"

"She worked for Mercer Hospitality for approximately eighteen months."

"Was she Richard's mistress?"

"We're investigating their personal relationship."

"Marcus confirmed it."

"That's useful information, but we'll need corroboration."

I nodded impatiently.

"What about the hospital?"

Harris opened a folder.

"We located an admission record for Natalie Cross."

My heart accelerated.

"On the night Lily was born?"

"Yes."

I stared at him.

"Was she pregnant?"

"The record indicates she was admitted for obstetric care."

"Did she deliver?"

Harris hesitated.

"That's where things become complicated."

I leaned forward.

"How?"

"Her discharge summary is missing."

I closed my eyes.

"Of course."

"But the operating-room schedule lists her name."

My pulse quickened.

"Operating Room Three?"

Harris nodded.

"Yes."

I stared at the table.

Claire had been taken into Operating Room Three.

Natalie had been scheduled there too.

Two women.

Two babies.

One altered set of records.

"Did they have surgery at the same time?"

"Not exactly. The schedule contains overlapping entries that may reflect an emergency change or later alteration."

I frowned.

"What does that mean?"

"We can't yet reconstruct the sequence."

I rubbed my forehead.

"Then we need the staff."

"We're identifying everyone who worked that shift."

"Patricia is missing."

"Yes."

"Adrian Bell is dead."

"Yes."

"And Vanessa refuses to talk."

Harris nodded.

"Which is why the records matter."

He turned another page toward me.

It contained a handwritten notation.

INFANT TRANSFER — AUTHORIZATION PENDING

Beneath it was a signature.

Not Vanessa's.

Not Claire's.

Not Eleanor's.

Richard Mercer's.

I stared at it.

My father had authorized a transfer involving a newborn child on the night Lily was born.

Six years before his supposed reappearance.

While I believed he had already been dead for a year.

I felt my pulse hammer.

"Richard was at the hospital?"

Harris nodded.

"His signature appears on the document."

"That doesn't prove he was there."

"Correct."

"But he knew about the baby."

"Possibly."

I stared at the page.

"Was Sophie his daughter?"

Harris hesitated.

"That's one hypothesis."

I looked up.

"Then Vanessa would be her half-sister."

"Potentially."

"And Richard could have arranged for Sophie to be hidden at Ashcroft House."

"That's consistent with some of the evidence, but not established."

I rubbed my forehead.

"Why?"

Harris studied me.

"Why what?"

"Why hide his own child?"

He didn't answer.

I thought about Richard's obsession with bloodlines.

His fixation on inheritance.

His willingness to manipulate people.

Then another possibility occurred to me.

"What if Sophie wasn't hidden to protect her?"

Harris leaned forward.

"What do you mean?"

"What if someone wanted her removed from the family records?"

He remained silent.

I continued.

"If Richard had another daughter, that could affect his estate. The trust. The inheritance provisions."

Harris nodded slowly.

"That gives us another avenue to examine."

I looked at Sophie's photograph.

A little girl with Lily's face.

Somewhere in the world, she might be living under a different name.

She might not know who her parents were.

She might not even know that people were searching for her.

And if Richard had hidden her once, someone might try to hide her again.

At five thirty, I visited Richard.

He was staying at a secure location while investigators verified his identity and examined his involvement in the financial records.

When I entered the room, he was sitting beside a window.

His cane rested against the chair.

He looked up.

"Daniel."

I remained standing.

"Who is Natalie Cross?"

His expression changed.

Only slightly.

But I saw it.

"Where did you hear that name?"

"Answer me."

Richard sighed.

"She worked for me."

"Was she your mistress?"

He looked away.

I felt anger rise.

"Was she?"

"Yes."

I stared at him.

"Did she have your child?"

Richard closed his eyes.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he whispered, "I don't know."

I stepped closer.

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not."

"She gave birth on the same night as Claire."

His eyes opened.

"What?"

"At the same hospital."

Richard looked genuinely shocked.

"That's impossible."

"Why?"

"Because Natalie was supposed to be overseas."

I laughed bitterly.

"That's what you told Marcus."

"She told me she was leaving."

"When?"

"Before my disappearance."

"Did you know she was pregnant?"

Richard hesitated.

"She said she might be."

My stomach tightened.

"And you did nothing?"

"I offered to help."

"Financially?"

"Yes."

"Did you ask her to terminate the pregnancy?"

His expression hardened.

"No."

I studied him.

"Did you arrange for Sophie to be transferred to Ashcroft House?"

Richard stared at me.

"Sophie?"

"The little girl born that night."

He shook his head.

"I don't know anyone by that name."

I took out my phone.

I showed him the photograph.

He studied it.

Then his face went white.

"Where did you get this?"

"Someone sent it to me."

Richard's hands began trembling.

"Daniel..."

"What?"

He looked at the photograph again.

"That child..."

I leaned forward.

"What about her?"

He swallowed.

"She looks like Natalie."

I stared at him.

"And Lily."

Richard nodded slowly.

"Yes."

I felt a chill.

"Is she your daughter?"

He looked up.

"I don't know."

For once, I believed him.

And that frightened me.

At seven that evening, Claire asked me to bring Lily for another visit.

The doctors approved a short supervised reunion.

When Lily entered the room, she ran straight into her mother's arms.

"Mommy!"

Claire held her tightly.

I stood near the doorway, watching them.

For a few minutes, the world seemed normal.

Lily told Claire about a drawing she'd made.

She complained about the hotel breakfast.

She asked when they could go home.

Claire smiled through tears.

"Soon, sweetheart."

Then Lily reached into her backpack.

"I brought something."

She pulled out a small photograph.

Claire looked at it.

Her smile vanished.

"Where did you get that?"

Lily shrugged.

"Vanessa gave it to me."

My stomach tightened.

"When?"

"A long time ago."

I stepped closer.

"What photograph?"

Lily handed it to me.

It showed two little girls sitting beside each other on a wooden bench.

Both blonde.

Both wearing matching pink dresses.

Both smiling at the camera.

One was Lily.

The other looked exactly like her.

I stared at the image.

"Sweetheart, who is this?"

Lily pointed.

"That's Sophie."

My heart stopped.

Claire covered her mouth.

I crouched in front of Lily.

"You know Sophie?"

She nodded.

"Of course."

I could barely breathe.

"Where did you meet her?"

Lily looked confused.

"At the house."

I stared at her.

"What house?"

"The one with the big garden."

Ashcroft House?

I tried to keep my voice calm.

"When did Vanessa take you there?"

Lily shrugged.

"Sometimes."

My chest tightened.

"Did Daddy know?"

She shook her head.

"Vanessa said it was our secret."

I looked at Claire.

Her face had gone pale.

I turned back to Lily.

"What did you do with Sophie?"

"We played."

"Did anyone else come?"

Lily nodded.

"Grandpa."

Richard.

My supposedly dead father.

I felt sick.

"Did he talk to you?"

"Sometimes."

"What did he say?"

Lily thought for a moment.

"He said we had to be nice to each other."

I swallowed.

"Why?"

She looked at me.

"Because Sophie was lonely."

I sat beside Lily on the hospital couch.

"Sweetheart, when was the last time you saw Sophie?"

She frowned.

"I don't remember."

"Was it before Mommy came home?"

She nodded.

"Yes."

"Did Sophie ever come to our house?"

Lily hesitated.

"Once."

My pulse quickened.

"When?"

"At night."

I stared at her.

"What happened?"

"Vanessa brought her."

"Did you play together?"

Lily shook her head.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because Sophie was sleeping."

I felt a chill.

"Sleeping?"

Lily nodded.

"Vanessa carried her."

My stomach tightened.

"Where did she take her?"

Lily pointed vaguely toward the hallway.

"To the old rooms."

The east wing.

I felt my heart hammer.

"Did Sophie stay overnight?"

Lily shrugged.

"I don't know."

I looked toward Claire.

She was crying silently.

Then Lily said something that made the room go cold.

"Daddy, Sophie doesn't like the dark."

I swallowed.

"Why?"

"Because she said the bad room doesn't have windows."

I stared at my daughter.

The hidden chamber.

The steel door.

The room where Claire had been imprisoned.

"Did Sophie tell you that?"

Lily nodded.

"She said she used to sleep there."

At nine fifteen, Detective Harris arrived.

I showed him the photograph and explained what Lily had said.

He listened carefully.

Then he asked to speak with Lily through a trained child interviewer rather than continue questioning her informally.

I agreed.

Lily had already endured too much.

I didn't want my fear shaping her memories.

Harris examined the photograph.

"Do you recognize the location?"

I studied the background.

A wooden bench.

A white fence.

A large stone building partly visible through the trees.

"It could be Ashcroft House."

He nodded.

"We'll compare it with property photographs."

I looked at him.

"Detective, Sophie may have been inside my home."

"We'll investigate."

"She may have been kept in the concealed room."

"We'll examine that possibility."

I rubbed my forehead.

"How many people were imprisoned in that house?"

Harris didn't answer.

Then he said, "Daniel, there's something else."

My pulse quickened.

"What?"

"We received the first batch of archived surgical records."

"And?"

"The records confirm that two infants were registered in connection with Operating Room Three that night."

I stopped breathing.

"Two?"

"Yes."

"Both girls?"

"Yes."

I looked toward Claire.

She was holding Lily.

Neither of them had heard.

"Who were their mothers?"

Harris hesitated.

"That's where the records become contradictory."

I felt my stomach tighten.

"What do you mean?"

"One document lists Claire Mercer as the mother of both infants."

My heart stopped.

"And the other?"

Harris looked directly at me.

"The second lists Natalie Cross as the mother of both."

I stared at him.

"That's impossible."

"Both records cannot accurately describe the same delivery."

"Then one was falsified."

"At least one contains incorrect information."

I rubbed my forehead.

"Which one?"

"We don't know yet."

I looked toward Lily.

She was laughing softly at something Claire had said.

My daughter.

The child I had held moments after her birth.

The little girl who called me Daddy.

Nothing could change that.

But someone had manipulated the records surrounding her birth.

Someone had created two conflicting versions of the same night.

And someone had hidden Sophie for six years.

"Detective," I whispered, "what if the wrong baby came home with us?"

Harris studied me.

"That's a