Chapter 14 - The Baby Who Came Home With Us

# Chapter 14 - The Baby Who Came Home With Us

"What if the wrong baby came home with us?"

Detective Harris looked at me across the hospital corridor, his expression tightening.

"Daniel, that's a possibility we need to investigate. But right now, we don't have enough evidence to establish that a switch occurred."

I stared through the glass panel of Claire's room.

Lily was sitting on her mother's bed, carefully arranging Bunny's ears while Claire watched her with a tired smile.

My daughter.

The child I had held on the night she was born.

The little girl who had spent six years calling me Daddy.

And somewhere, according to the evidence, another little girl named Sophie existed with almost exactly the same face.

"Two birth records," I said quietly. "Two different mothers listed for the same two children. Someone deliberately changed those documents."

"That's what we're investigating."

"Then test us."

Harris studied me.

"What?"

"DNA. Me, Claire, Lily. Whoever else you need."

"We can arrange appropriate testing with the necessary consent."

I looked at him.

"I don't care how much it costs."

"This isn't about money, Daniel."

"I know."

My voice broke.

"It's about knowing whether someone stole a child from us."

Harris lowered his eyes.

For the first time since this nightmare began, he seemed unable to offer even a cautious reassurance.

The next morning, Claire agreed to genetic testing.

She didn't hesitate.

But when the nurse explained the procedure, I noticed her hands trembling.

"Will it tell us whether Lily is mine?" she asked.

The nurse glanced toward the physician supervising the collection.

"The laboratory can compare your genetic profiles to evaluate biological parentage."

Claire nodded.

"And Sophie?"

"We would need an authenticated sample from Sophie to establish her relationship to your family."

I watched Claire's face.

She was trying to remain calm.

But I knew her too well.

Every time Lily's name was mentioned, something fragile moved behind her eyes.

After the samples were collected, I sat beside her.

"Are you all right?"

She stared at the window.

"No."

I took her hand.

"Whatever the results say, Lily is our daughter."

Claire looked at me.

"Do you mean that?"

"Of course."

"What if she isn't biologically ours?"

I swallowed.

"Then someone lied to us. But that doesn't erase six years of loving her."

Tears filled Claire's eyes.

She leaned against my shoulder.

For a moment, I held her as I used to before everything fell apart.

Then she whispered, "And what if Sophie is ours?"

I closed my eyes.

"We find her."

"And if she doesn't know us?"

"We give her time."

Claire began crying.

"What if she's been waiting for us?"

I had no answer.

Because that possibility was the one I feared most.

At noon, Harris contacted me with news about the photograph Lily had given us.

Investigators had confirmed that the garden in the background matched an enclosed courtyard at Ashcroft House.

The white fence.

The wooden bench.

The stone building.

Everything aligned.

"Then Sophie was there," I said.

"At some point, yes."

"Was she a patient?"

"We haven't established that."

"Did she live there?"

"Possibly."

I rubbed my forehead.

"What about the hidden chamber in my house?"

Harris hesitated.

"We found evidence suggesting someone other than Claire may have occupied it."

My stomach tightened.

"What evidence?"

"Additional bedding. Children's clothing fibers. Small marks on the lower portion of the wall."

I remembered the scratches.

The three letters.

S O P.

"Did Sophie write her name there?"

"We can't confirm that."

I looked toward the window.

For eighteen months, Claire had been imprisoned behind a wall.

Had Sophie been there too?

Had a six-year-old child been kept in that darkness?

The thought made me sick.

"Detective, Vanessa knows where she is."

"She may."

"Then make her tell you."

"We're pursuing every lawful avenue."

I closed my eyes.

Vanessa had controlled our household.

She had known our routines.

She had access to Lily's bedroom.

She had supervised the renovation that concealed Claire.

And she had apparently taken another child to Ashcroft House.

She knew far more than she admitted.

At two thirty, Marcus called.

"Daniel, I heard about the hospital records."

I felt anger rise.

"From whom?"

"The legal department. Some documents have been requested in connection with the investigation."

"Then you know there may have been a second child."

"Yes."

"Did you know Natalie Cross was pregnant?"

Marcus hesitated.

"I knew she believed she was."

"That's not what I asked."

He sighed.

"Yes. She told me."

My stomach tightened.

"When?"

"Before Richard's disappearance."

"Did she say Richard was the father?"

"She implied it."

I stared at the wall.

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't know whether the pregnancy continued."

"Did you ask?"

"No."

"Why?"

Marcus was silent.

I laughed bitterly.

"Of course. Another secret nobody thought I deserved to know."

"Daniel—"

"Did Richard pay Natalie to leave?"

A pause.

"Yes."

My pulse accelerated.

"How much?"

"I don't remember the exact amount."

"Try."

"Several million dollars."

I stopped breathing.

"Several million?"

"Through a private settlement."

"What was she settling?"

Marcus hesitated.

"Richard wanted her to keep their relationship confidential."

I looked away.

My father had used money to control people for decades.

But this was different.

If Natalie had given birth to his child, the settlement might have concealed more than an affair.

It might have concealed a daughter.

"Did the money come from the trust?"

Marcus didn't answer.

That was enough.

At four, I visited Richard.

He looked weaker than he had at the Riverside Hotel.

His right hand trembled slightly as he poured water into a glass.

I sat opposite him.

"How much did you pay Natalie Cross?"

He froze.

Then slowly placed the glass down.

"Who told you about that?"

"Marcus."

Richard closed his eyes.

"Of course."

"How much?"

"Three million dollars."

I stared at him.

"For silence?"

"For her security."

I laughed.

"That's what you call it?"

"Daniel, Natalie was in danger."

"From whom?"

He looked away.

"People connected to the financial network."

I leaned forward.

"Was she pregnant with your child?"

Richard hesitated.

"She told me she was."

"Did you believe her?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you let her disappear?"

His face tightened.

"Because she insisted on leaving."

"Where?"

"Overseas."

"With your money?"

"Yes."

I stared at him.

"And six years ago, she appeared at the same hospital where Claire gave birth."

Richard's expression changed.

"What?"

"You heard me."

He shook his head.

"No."

"She was admitted to the maternity ward."

"That's impossible."

"Her name is in the records."

Richard stared at me.

For the first time, he looked genuinely confused.

Then he whispered, "She would have contacted me."

"Why?"

"Because of the child."

I leaned closer.

"What child?"

He looked at me.

"The daughter she was carrying."

My stomach tightened.

"Richard, that was more than seven years ago."

He nodded.

"I know."

"Then the child would be older than Lily."

Richard went still.

The realization seemed to strike him slowly.

"Yes."

I stared at him.

"So Sophie couldn't be that child."

He looked down.

"Not if the dates are correct."

I felt a chill.

"Then why was Natalie in the maternity ward six years ago?"

Richard said nothing.

But his expression told me he was beginning to ask himself the same question.

That evening, Detective Harris called with a breakthrough.

"We located a former employee of Ashcroft House."

I stood.

"Who?"

"A woman named Helen Price. She worked as a residential caregiver."

"Did she know Sophie?"

"She remembers a little girl."

My pulse accelerated.

"Blonde?"

"Yes."

"About Lily's age?"

"Yes."

"Where is Helen now?"

"She's being interviewed."

I gripped the phone.

"What did she say?"

Harris hesitated.

"She described the child as quiet, intelligent, and unusually frightened of locked doors."

My chest tightened.

Sophie.

The little girl in the photograph.

The child Lily said hated the dark.

"Did Helen know her name?"

"She said staff called her Sophie."

I closed my eyes.

"Then it's her."

"Very likely."

"Where did she go?"

"That's what we're trying to establish."

I rubbed my forehead.

"Did Helen say anything else?"

Harris paused.

"Yes."

"What?"

"She said Sophie was sometimes visited by an older woman."

My pulse quickened.

"Eleanor?"

"Possibly."

"And?"

"She also remembered a man."

"Richard?"

"She didn't recognize him from the photograph we showed her."

I frowned.

"Then who?"

"She described him as tall, with dark hair and a scar on his left hand."

I stared at the wall.

A scar.

I remembered something.

Years earlier, Marcus had cut his left hand during a construction-site inspection.

The injury left a pale line across his knuckles.

"Detective," I whispered, "Marcus has a scar on his left hand."

Harris was silent.

Then he said, "We'll follow up."

At nine, I received a message from an unknown number.

A photograph appeared.

Sophie sat on a bed in a small room.

She wore a yellow sweater.

Her blonde hair was tied back.

She looked directly into the camera.

Her expression was frightened.

Beneath the photograph was a message.

Stop asking about the birth records.

My hands began shaking.

Another message followed.

You already have one daughter.

I stared at the screen.

Then a third message arrived.

Be grateful.

I immediately called Harris.

He instructed me not to respond.

But I couldn't stop looking at the photograph.

Sophie was alive.

Someone was holding her somewhere.

And whoever controlled her was watching our investigation closely enough to react to the hospital records.

"Detective," I whispered, "they're threatening her."

"We're treating it seriously."

"Find her."

"We will do everything we can."

I ended the call.

Then I looked at the photograph again.

Something about the room bothered me.

The wallpaper.

The wooden headboard.

The small brass lamp beside the bed.

I had seen that room before.

Not at Ashcroft House.

Somewhere else.

I enlarged the image.

Then I recognized the wallpaper.

A pale blue floral pattern.

Discontinued years earlier.

Vanessa had once shown me a sample during the renovation of our mansion.

I remembered rejecting it.

But she had insisted it would be perfect for a guest room.

A room in the west wing.

I felt my heart stop.

Sophie might not be hidden somewhere far away.

She might be inside my own house.

At ten fifteen, Harris arranged an immediate search of the west wing.

I waited outside the mansion while officers entered.

The house stood dark against the night sky.

Police vehicles lined the driveway.

I stared at the upper windows.

For eighteen months, Claire had been hidden behind a wall less than fifty yards from our bedroom.

Now another child might be concealed in a room I had walked past countless times.

Harris approached.

"We found the room."

My heart accelerated.

"And?"

"The wallpaper matches."

"Is Sophie there?"

He hesitated.

"No."

I felt my stomach drop.

"Then where is she?"

"The room is empty."

I closed my eyes.

Another dead end.

Then Harris said, "But we found something."

I looked up.

"What?"

"A child's drawing."

My pulse quickened.

He showed me a photograph.

The drawing depicted two little girls standing beside a large house.

One wore a pink dress.

The other wore yellow.

Above them was a bright sun.

And beneath the drawing, in uneven handwriting, were two names.

LILY + SOPHIE

I stared at it.

"They were together."

Harris nodded.

"At some point."

I felt tears fill my eyes.

My daughter had known Sophie.

She had played with her.

And someone had hidden those meetings from me.

Then Harris showed me another photograph.

This one depicted the back of the drawing.

A message had been written in an adult's handwriting.

DO NOT LET DANIEL SEE THIS.

I recognized the handwriting immediately.

Vanessa.

At midnight, Harris called again.

His voice was urgent.

"Daniel, we have the preliminary parentage results."

I stood.

My heart hammered.

"Already?"

"The laboratory prioritized the comparison."

I looked toward Claire's hospital room.

She was asleep.

I stepped farther into the corridor.

"Tell me."

Harris hesitated.

"The results support a biological parent-child relationship between you and Lily."

I closed my eyes.

Relief washed through me so suddenly that I nearly collapsed.

"She's mine."

"Yes. The findings are strongly consistent with paternity."

I pressed my hand against my face.

For days, I had feared that someone had switched our daughter at birth.

Now at least one part of our family remained certain.

"What about Claire?"

Harris was silent.

My relief vanished.

"Detective?"

He took a breath.

"The results do not support Claire as Lily's biological mother."

I stopped breathing.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Daniel."

I stared at the wall.

"No."

"The laboratory repeated the analysis."

I felt the floor shift beneath me.

"That's impossible."

"I understand this is difficult."

"Claire carried Lily for nine months."

"She underwent a documented pregnancy and delivery."

"Then how can Lily not be hers?"

Harris hesitated.

"That's exactly what we need to investigate."

I looked through the glass panel.

Claire was sleeping peacefully.

For six years, she had loved Lily as her daughter.

For eighteen months, she had fought to survive because she wanted to see her again.

And now a genetic test suggested the child we brought home was not biologically hers.

I felt sick.

"Detective," I whispered, "what does this mean?"

Harris paused.

"It raises the possibility that an infant substitution occurred."

I closed my eyes.

"Then Sophie..."

"We need to find Sophie and test her before drawing conclusions."

I leaned against the wall.

My daughter was biologically mine.

But not Claire's.

And somewhere, another child with Lily's face was being hidden.

The implications were terrifying.

Then Harris said something that made my blood run cold.

"Daniel, there's one more result."

I opened my eyes.

"What?"

"We compared Lily's DNA against the archived genetic profile attributed to Natalie Cross."

My pulse accelerated.

"And?"

Harris hesitated.

"The findings are consistent with Natalie being Lily's biological mother."

I couldn't speak.

Natalie Cross.

Richard Mercer's former mistress.

The woman who had supposedly disappeared years before Lily's birth.

The woman whose name appeared in the hospital records.

I stared at Claire through the glass.

Then I whispered, "If Natalie is Lily's mother, why does Lily have my DNA?"

Harris was silent for a moment.

Then he said, "Daniel, we need to examine the possibility that you and Natalie had a biological child."

I felt a chill.

"That's impossible."

"Why?"

"Because I've never met Natalie Cross."

A long silence followed.

Then Harris said quietly, "That is precisely why we're concerned."