Chapter 3 - The Daughter Who Never Existed
The little girl in the photograph had Sophia's eyes.
Not merely the same hazel color, but the same distinctive shape, the same dark lashes, and the same faint asymmetry that had made Sophia self-conscious as a teenager.
For several terrifying seconds, Sophia forgot the armed men pursuing them, the blood running down Daniel's forehead, and the frightened boy gripping her hand.
All she could see was the photograph on her phone.
A girl.
Approximately eight years old.
Dark brown hair falling over narrow shoulders.
A pale blue dress.
And a silver crescent moon resting against her chest.
Emily Sterling.
The name struck Sophia harder than anything else that night.
Because Emily was the name she had chosen for a daughter years before she became pregnant.
She had mentioned it to Julian once, during their honeymoon.
He had laughed and told her they ought to concentrate on their marriage before naming imaginary children.
Sophia had never forgotten the name.
But she had never spoken it publicly.
"Mrs. Sterling!"
Daniel's urgent voice pulled her back to reality.
"We have to leave!"
Sophia stumbled toward the car, clutching her phone.
Toby climbed into the back seat.
She followed, slamming the door as Daniel rushed behind the wheel.
The sedan accelerated away from the hospice.
In the rear window, Sophia saw two men emerging from the service entrance.
One raised a phone to his ear.
The other pointed toward their disappearing car.
"Are they following us?" Sophia asked.
Daniel checked the mirror.
"Not yet."
Blood trickled down his temple.
Sophia noticed his trembling hands.
"You're hurt."
"I've survived worse."
"What happened?"
"One of Mr. Sterling's security men tried to stop me from reaching you."
"Miller?"
"No. Someone I haven't seen before."
Daniel took a sharp turn onto a narrow road leading away from the river.
"He knew my name, though."
Sophia looked up.
"What?"
"He called me Daniel. Told me I'd lose my pension if I interfered."
Sophia's stomach tightened.
Julian knew exactly how to threaten people.
He always targeted the one thing they couldn't afford to lose.
For Daniel, it was the retirement fund he had spent decades building.
"I'm sorry," Sophia whispered.
Daniel met her eyes in the mirror.
"Your father once helped my wife when she needed surgery. He never asked for anything in return."
He turned onto the highway.
"I haven't forgotten that."
Sophia looked down at her phone again.
The photograph remained on the screen.
She enlarged it.
Behind the little girl was a tall window overlooking a garden.
A white wrought-iron bench stood beneath an enormous willow tree.
Near the edge of the picture, almost hidden by the curtain, was the corner of a dark wooden piano.
Sophia frowned.
There was something familiar about that room.
Something she couldn't immediately place.
Then Toby leaned against her arm.
"Who's that?"
Sophia turned the phone toward him.
"Do you know this little girl?"
Toby studied the photograph.
His expression changed.
"Emily."
Sophia's heart stopped.
"You know her?"
He nodded.
"Where did you meet her?"
Toby looked uncomfortable.
"Martha told me not to talk about her."
Sophia closed her eyes.
Of course.
Martha had known.
The woman who raised Toby had apparently known about the girl as well.
"Toby, sweetheart, I need you to tell me everything you remember."
The boy looked toward Daniel.
Then back at Sophia.
"Will Martha get in trouble?"
Sophia swallowed.
"I don't know."
He hesitated.
"She said the girl was special."
"Special how?"
"She wasn't supposed to know about me."
A cold sensation spread through Sophia's chest.
"But you met her?"
Toby nodded.
"Only once."
"When?"
"Before Christmas. When there was snow."
"Last Christmas?"
"I think so."
Sophia leaned closer.
"Where?"
Toby stared at the photograph.
"At the big house."
"What big house?"
"The one with the white horses."
Sophia went still.
White horses.
She knew a property with white horses.
Aunt Beatrice owned an estate in Connecticut called Willowbrook Manor.
Two enormous white stone horses stood beside its entrance gates.
Sophia had spent countless summers there as a child.
She had learned to ride horses on its grounds.
She had celebrated her eighteenth birthday beneath its garden pavilion.
And after her father's death, Aunt Beatrice had taken control of the estate through the family trust.
Sophia hadn't visited Willowbrook in almost three years.
Beatrice claimed the property was undergoing extensive renovations.
Now Sophia wondered what—or whom—those renovations were meant to conceal.
"Toby," she said carefully, "did you see the girl at a house with two white horse statues?"
His eyes widened.
"Yes!"
Sophia's grip tightened around the phone.
"What happened there?"
Toby shifted uneasily.
"Martha took me in a car. She said we were going to see somebody who might help us."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"Was Emily there?"
He nodded.
"She was standing upstairs."
"What did she say?"
Toby looked down.
"She asked if I wanted to play."
Sophia's throat tightened.
"And?"
"Martha said no. We had to leave."
"Why?"
"Because the angry lady came."
Sophia already knew the answer.
But she asked anyway.
"What angry lady?"
"The one in the picture at the hospital."
"Aunt Beatrice?"
Toby nodded.
"She was very mad at Martha."
Sophia fought to keep her voice steady.
"What did she say?"
The boy frowned, struggling to remember.
"She said Martha had broken their agreement."
Sophia felt sick.
"And Martha?"
"She said they couldn't keep doing this forever."
"Doing what?"
Toby shrugged.
"Then the angry lady said something about the children being safer apart."
Sophia stared at him.
The children.
Plural.
Her hand moved instinctively toward her stomach.
For eight years, she had lived believing she had delivered one son who died shortly afterward.
But now there was Toby.
And possibly Emily.
Two children.
Two missing lives.
Two enormous pieces of her heart that someone had stolen.
Yet one question continued tormenting her.
Why?
If Julian had wanted to avoid becoming a father, why not simply leave the marriage?
If Beatrice wanted control of the family fortune, why hide the children instead of confronting Sophia openly?
There had to be another reason.
One far more complicated than money.
Twenty minutes later, Daniel pulled into the underground parking garage of a private medical clinic in northern Manhattan.
Sophia frowned.
"Why are we here?"
"Because we need somewhere safe, and you need proof."
He glanced at Toby.
"Dr. Nathan Reed works here. He's an old friend."
Sophia hesitated.
"Can we trust him?"
Daniel turned off the engine.
"I trust him with my life."
Sophia looked at the boy beside her.
Toby had fallen asleep.
His head rested against her shoulder.
One small hand still clutched the empty cracker packet.
She couldn't bring herself to move him.
Daniel stepped outside and made a phone call.
A few minutes later, a tall man in his early forties emerged from a side entrance.
He wore a navy sweater beneath a white medical coat.
His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and he carried an expression of professional exhaustion.
"Daniel?"
The men embraced briefly.
Then Nathan noticed the blood.
"What happened to your head?"
"Long story."
Nathan's gaze shifted toward the back seat.
And then toward Sophia.
"Mrs. Sterling?"
Sophia recognized the name.
Nathan Reed.
He had once been a junior physician at Saint Catherine's Maternity Hospital.
She remembered hearing about him during her pregnancy.
Julian had mentioned that Nathan had resigned shortly before her delivery.
According to Julian, the doctor had been dismissed for professional misconduct.
Sophia looked at Daniel.
"You know him?"
"Twenty years," Daniel answered.
Nathan opened the rear door.
"Let's get you both inside."
His eyes settled on Toby.
Something in his expression changed.
He crouched beside the sleeping child.
"How old is he?"
"Eight," Sophia answered.
Nathan looked up sharply.
"Eight?"
Sophia nodded.
"His name is Toby."
Nathan stared at the boy's face.
For one brief moment, Sophia thought she saw recognition.
Then he straightened.
"We should go upstairs."
Nathan led them into a small consultation room.
Daniel accepted treatment for his injury from a nurse who appeared accustomed to his doctor's late-night requests.
Toby woke when Sophia helped him onto an examination bed.
He looked terrified of the medical equipment.
"Am I sick?" he whispered.
"No, sweetheart," Sophia said.
"We're just making sure you're healthy."
Nathan approached slowly.
"Hello, Toby. I'm Nathan."
The boy watched him suspiciously.
"Are you going to give me a needle?"
"Not unless we have a very good reason, and not without explaining it first."
Toby considered this.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Nathan examined the boy's hands and listened to his breathing.
He noticed the old scars.
The bruises.
The signs of prolonged hardship.
His expression darkened.
"Has anyone been looking after you?"
Toby nodded.
"Martha."
"Where is Martha now?"
The boy became silent.
Sophia quickly intervened.
"Someone took her from St. Jude River Hospice."
Nathan froze.
"What did you say?"
"She was transferred tonight. Against the wishes of at least one of the nurses."
Nathan's face became very still.
"Was her name Martha Bell?"
Sophia stared.
"You know her?"
Nathan slowly lowered his stethoscope.
"Yes."
"How?"
He hesitated.
"We worked at the same hospital."
"Saint Catherine's?"
Nathan nodded.
Sophia felt her pulse quicken.
"Then you knew her eight years ago."
"Yes."
"Were you there when I gave birth?"
Nathan's expression changed.
For several seconds, he did not answer.
Sophia stood.
"Dr. Reed."
He looked toward the door.
Then back at her.
"I wasn't present for your delivery."
"But you know something."
Nathan exhaled.
"Mrs. Sterling, what I'm about to say could put several people in danger."
Sophia gave a bitter laugh.
"That seems to be a recurring theme tonight."
He pulled a chair closer.
"Tell me what you've discovered."
Sophia showed him the photograph of herself holding the newborn.
The brass key.
The note bearing Julian's handwriting.
And finally, the image of Emily.
Nathan studied the girl's photograph for a long time.
His face became unreadable.
"Where did this come from?"
"An unknown number."
"Did the sender identify themselves?"
"No."
Nathan enlarged the photograph.
His eyes narrowed at the silver necklace.
"That's interesting."
"What?"
"The pendant."
Sophia glanced down.
"A crescent moon."
Nathan nodded slowly.
"Saint Catherine's used to operate a private neonatal program for wealthy families. It was never publicly advertised."
Sophia felt uneasy.
"What kind of program?"
"High-risk pregnancies. Complex newborn care. Confidential treatment arrangements."
"That sounds legitimate."
"Some parts were."
Sophia leaned forward.
"And the others?"
Nathan remained silent for several moments.
"After I resigned, I heard rumors of irregular medical records and unusually large private payments."
"What kind of irregularities?"
"Duplicate patient identifiers. Missing discharge documentation. Neonatal transfers without proper supporting records."
Sophia stared at him.
"Children disappearing?"
Nathan did not answer immediately.
"I never established that. Rumors aren't proof."
"But you suspected something."
"Yes."
Sophia's voice hardened.
"Why didn't you report it?"
"I raised concerns internally before I left. I had no access to the records afterward, and I couldn't substantiate the allegations."
She studied him.
There was something carefully controlled about his answer.
He was choosing his words.
Just as Julian had.
"Did you know my husband?"
Nathan looked directly at her.
"Yes."
"Did you know my aunt?"
His expression tightened.
"Beatrice Whitmore?"
"Yes."
Nathan folded his hands.
"Your aunt served on the hospital's governing foundation."
Sophia's stomach sank.
"And Julian?"
"His investment group financed part of the maternity wing."
Sophia closed her eyes.
The pieces were beginning to connect.
Her husband.
Her aunt.
The hospital.
Her vanished children.
But Nathan was not finished.
"Mrs. Sterling, I need to ask you something personal."
"What?"
"During your pregnancy, were you ever told that you might be carrying twins?"
Sophia felt her heartbeat accelerate.
"Once."
Nathan leaned forward.
"Tell me."
"During an early examination, the obstetrician thought he heard two heartbeats. Later, he said it was a mistake."
"Who was the obstetrician?"
"Dr. Charles Voss."
Nathan's jaw tightened.
Sophia noticed immediately.
"You know him."
"Yes."
"Where is he now?"
Nathan looked away.
"Officially, he retired six years ago."
"Officially?"
"No one I know has heard from him since."
A heavy silence settled over the room.
Then Toby spoke from the examination bed.
"Dr. Voss had glasses."
Sophia turned sharply.
"What?"
Toby sat with his knees drawn toward his chest.
"The man who came to Martha's house sometimes. He had round glasses."
Nathan stared at him.
"What did he look like?"
Toby thought carefully.
"White hair. A brown bag. He smelled like medicine."
Nathan reached into his desk drawer and removed an old hospital staff photograph.
He placed it in front of Toby.
"Do you see him here?"
The boy studied the faces.
Then he pointed.
"That's him."
Sophia looked down.
The man in the photograph wore round glasses and had neatly combed silver hair.
His name was printed beneath the image.
Dr. Charles Voss.
The same doctor who had delivered her baby.
The same doctor who had insisted there was only one heartbeat.
And the same doctor who had disappeared six years earlier.
Sophia looked at Nathan.
"He's alive."
Nathan didn't respond.
"He's been visiting Martha."
"Apparently."
Sophia stood.
"Then we find him."
Nathan placed a hand on the photograph.
"Not so fast."
"Why?"
"Because if Charles Voss is involved, he may be the only surviving physician who knows what really happened in that delivery room."
Sophia stared at him.
"What do you mean, surviving?"
Nathan's expression darkened.
"Three other members of your original medical team died within four years of your son's birth."
Sophia felt cold.
"How?"
"One in a car accident. One from an apparent overdose. One in a house fire."
"You're saying they were murdered?"
"I'm saying the circumstances troubled me. I don't know whether their deaths were connected."
Sophia looked toward Toby.
He was quietly arranging the remaining crackers into a little stack.
So innocent.
So unaware of the nightmare surrounding him.
She turned back to Nathan.
"I want a DNA test."
Nathan nodded.
"That would be the clearest way to establish whether Toby is biologically related to you."
"How soon?"
"We can arrange properly collected samples tomorrow morning. Results will depend on the laboratory."
Sophia looked at the boy.
"Until then, I won't let anyone take him away."
Nathan's expression softened.
"I understand."
But Sophia noticed that he still seemed distracted.
His gaze repeatedly returned to Emily's photograph.
Finally, she confronted him.
"What aren't you telling me?"
Nathan sighed.
"The room in that photograph."
Sophia lifted her phone.
"What about it?"
"I've seen it before."
Her heart quickened.
"Where?"
Nathan pointed toward the piano visible beside the curtain.
"That instrument belonged to the Whitmore family."
Sophia stared.
"My aunt owns several pianos."
"This one has a distinctive carved leg. It was damaged during a charity auction years ago."
He enlarged the image.
A narrow crack was visible in the polished wood.
Sophia recognized it.
Suddenly, the entire room made sense.
The window.
The willow tree.
The white bench.
The piano.
It was the east drawing room at Willowbrook Manor.
Emily was living in Aunt Beatrice's house.
Sophia stood so abruptly her chair fell backward.
"We're going to Connecticut."
Nathan blocked her path.
"Not tonight."
"She's there!"
"Possibly. But your aunt may already know you've found Toby."
"Then every minute matters."
Nathan lowered his voice.
"If you walk into Willowbrook without a plan, you could lose both children."
Sophia stopped.
Both children.
The words pierced her.
For the first time, someone else had acknowledged the possibility aloud.
She might have a son.
And a daughter.
Somewhere in the darkness, a little girl might be waiting for a mother she had never met.
Sophia looked at Toby.
Then at the photograph.
"How do I know I can trust you?" she asked Nathan.
He accepted the question without offense.
"You don't."
That answer surprised her.
Nathan continued.
"But I can give you something useful."
He walked toward a locked cabinet.
From inside, he removed a small flash drive.
Sophia frowned.
"What is that?"
"Copies of documents I retained when I left Saint Catherine's."
"Why would you keep them?"
"Because I believed someone was falsifying medical records."
Sophia held out her hand.
Nathan hesitated.
"There's something else."
"What?"
He looked at Toby.
Then back at Sophia.
"Your medical records listed one live birth."
Sophia swallowed.
"A boy."
Nathan nodded.
"But a separate neonatal transport log from the same night contained two entries associated with your delivery suite."
Sophia's heart thundered.
"A boy and a girl?"
"The second entry was marked female."
She covered her mouth.
"Emily."
"Possibly."
Sophia took the flash drive.
"Why didn't you come to me?"
Nathan's expression filled with regret.
"Because by the time I found that discrepancy, you had been told your son was dead. I had no reliable way to establish whose child the second entry referred to."
She stared at him.
"And you said nothing?"
"I tried to get an independent review. The hospital refused. Then I lost access to the system."
Sophia could hear the shame in his voice.
But she had no energy left for sympathy.
"Eight years," she whispered.
Nathan lowered his head.
"I know."
"No, you don't."
The room fell silent.
Shortly after midnight, Sophia was sitting beside Toby when her phone rang.
Julian.
She watched the screen until the call ended.
Then came another.
And another.
Finally, a message appeared.
Sophia, come home. We need to talk. I can explain everything.
She stared at the words.
A second message followed.
You are putting yourself and the boy in danger.
Sophia typed a response.
Tell me where my daughter is.
For almost a minute, nothing happened.
Then Julian replied.
Who told you about her?
Sophia's blood ran cold.
Not What daughter?
Not What are you talking about?
He knew.
He had always known.
She began typing furiously.
You told me our baby died. You watched me grieve for eight years. Where is Emily?
Julian's response arrived immediately.
Don't go to Willowbrook.
Sophia froze.
She had never mentioned Willowbrook.
How did he know?
She looked toward Nathan's office.
The doctor was speaking quietly with Daniel.
No one had access to her phone.
Unless—
Her eyes moved to the flash drive.
Had Julian been tracking her?
Another message appeared.
Beatrice is not who you think she is.
Sophia felt a bitter laugh rise in her throat.
That much was obvious.
Then came the final message.
And neither is Nathan Reed.
Sophia slowly raised her head.
Across the corridor, Nathan was standing beside a window.
He had his phone pressed to his ear.
His expression was tense.
Sophia couldn't hear what he was saying.
But she could see his lips move.
Then he glanced toward the consultation room.
Toward Toby.
Toward her.
He quickly turned away.
Sophia slipped her phone into her purse.
Something was wrong.
She stood and quietly approached the partially open office door.
Nathan's voice carried through the gap.
"She's here."
A pause.
"Yes, she found the boy."
Sophia's heart began pounding.
Nathan lowered his voice.
"No. She doesn't know about the second file."
Another pause.
Then he said something that made Sophia's blood turn to ice.
"If she discovers what really happened to Emily, she'll never forgive any of us."
Sophia stumbled backward.
The floor creaked beneath her shoe.
Nathan went silent.
For one terrible second, neither moved.
Then his office door began opening.
Sophia hurried back toward Toby.
She had barely reached the examination room when another notification appeared on her phone.
This time, the sender was unknown.
It contained a live video.
Sophia tapped the screen.
A dimly lit bedroom appeared.
A little girl sat on the edge of a white bed.
Her dark brown hair was neatly braided.
The silver crescent moon necklace rested against her pale blue nightgown.
Emily.
Sophia pressed a trembling hand to her mouth.
The girl looked directly into the camera.
"Hello, Mommy."
Sophia's knees weakened.
The child's voice was soft and frightened.
"Aunt Beatrice says you're coming to get me."
Sophia could barely breathe.
Emily glanced toward someone standing outside the camera's view.
Then her expression changed.
Tears filled her eyes.
"Mommy, please don't come."
Sophia stared at the screen.
"Why?" she whispered helplessly.
The girl began crying.
"Because Aunt Beatrice says if you come here..."
She stopped.
A shadow moved across the bedroom wall.
Someone approached the child.
Emily looked up in terror.
Then she whispered the final words before the video abruptly ended.
"...they're going to make Toby disappear again."