Chapter 12 - The Other Girl Born That Night

# Chapter 12 - The Other Girl Born That Night

The little girl in Detective Harris's photograph had my daughter's face.

Not a passing resemblance. Not the familiar similarities that sometimes appeared between distant relatives.

The same wide blue eyes. The same delicate nose. The same heart-shaped face framed by blonde hair.

And according to the documents recovered from the Riverside Hotel, her name was Sophie Mercer.

She had been born on the same day, in the same hospital, as Lily.

I stared at the photograph on my phone.

"Detective, where is this child?"

Harris didn't answer immediately.

"Daniel, we haven't established her current location."

"What do you mean?"

"The records contain a birth date and a name, but the address associated with the file is no longer valid."

I looked toward Claire.

She was sitting upright in her hospital bed, watching me with growing alarm.

"Is she alive?"

"We don't know."

My stomach tightened.

"Then find her."

"We're working on it."

"She's six years old."

"I understand."

"No, you don't. Someone has been watching my daughter. Someone collected her DNA without permission. And now you're telling me there's another little girl who looks exactly like her?"

Harris let me finish.

Then he said quietly, "Daniel, there's something you need to consider."

"What?"

"Two children born at the same hospital on the same day can resemble each other without being related."

I looked at the photograph again.

"Not like this."

"Appearance isn't proof of a biological relationship."

"Then test the records."

"We intend to."

I swallowed.

"Could Sophie be Lily's twin?"

A long silence followed.

Then Harris said, "That's one possibility we have to investigate."

Behind me, something shattered.

I turned.

Claire had dropped her water glass.

It lay broken beside the hospital bed.

And my wife was staring at me as though I had just spoken a name she had spent years trying to forget.

"Claire?"

She didn't answer.

I crossed the room.

"Are you hurt?"

She shook her head.

A nurse hurried inside, checked that Claire hadn't cut herself, and cleaned up the broken glass.

Throughout it all, Claire remained silent.

When the nurse finally left, I pulled a chair beside the bed.

"Do you know someone named Sophie?"

Claire's face was pale.

"No."

I studied her.

"Are you sure?"

She looked at me.

"Why would you ask that?"

"Because the moment I mentioned her, you dropped your glass."

"I was startled."

"Claire."

Her eyes filled with tears.

"Daniel, I gave birth to one daughter."

I felt my chest tighten.

"One?"

"Yes."

"Lily?"

"Of course."

I took out my phone.

"Then look at this."

I showed her the photograph.

Claire stared at the screen.

For several seconds, she didn't move.

Then she reached toward it.

Her fingers trembled.

"Oh, my God."

"Do you recognize her?"

She shook her head.

But tears were already rolling down her cheeks.

"Claire, please."

"She looks like Lily."

"I know."

"Exactly like her."

I nodded.

"Did anything unusual happen when Lily was born?"

Claire looked away.

I waited.

"Claire?"

She closed her eyes.

"I don't remember everything."

My pulse accelerated.

"What don't you remember?"

"The delivery."

I frowned.

"Lily was born by emergency cesarean section."

"I know."

"You were unconscious for part of it."

She nodded.

"Yes."

I remembered that night.

Claire had developed complications during labor. The doctors had rushed her into surgery.

I had waited outside the operating room, terrified.

When a nurse finally brought Lily to me, I cried harder than I ever had in my life.

Claire didn't wake fully until several hours later.

At the time, I believed the confusion surrounding the birth was simply part of an emergency delivery.

Now I wasn't so certain.

"Did anyone tell you there had been two babies?" I asked.

Claire looked horrified.

"No."

"Did you hear anything about another child?"

She hesitated.

Then whispered, "There was a woman."

I leaned forward.

"What woman?"

"A nurse."

"What did she say?"

Claire pressed her fingers against her forehead.

"I remember waking briefly. I was still very confused."

"And?"

"Someone was standing beside my bed."

I waited.

"She said something about the second baby."

My blood ran cold.

"The second baby?"

Claire began crying.

"I thought I was dreaming."

At ten the following morning, Harris arranged for investigators to review the hospital records from Lily's birth.

The hospital had changed ownership twice in six years, and some older records had been transferred to off-site storage.

But the delivery register still existed.

Harris called me from his office.

"We found the entry for Claire's admission."

"And?"

"It confirms an emergency cesarean delivery."

"One baby?"

"The summary lists one live female infant."

I closed my eyes.

Relief washed through me.

Then Harris continued.

"But there's an inconsistency."

My stomach tightened.

"What?"

"The operating-room log records two neonatal identification bands being issued."

I froze.

"Two?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"We don't know."

"Could it be a clerical error?"

"Possibly."

I stared at the wall.

"Detective, what else?"

"The second band was assigned to an infant whose name was entered later."

My pulse quickened.

"Sophie?"

"Yes."

I couldn't speak.

Harris continued.

"The records indicate that Sophie was transferred out of the hospital within forty-eight hours."

"Transferred where?"

"To a private medical facility."

I felt a cold sensation spread through my body.

"Ashcroft House?"

Harris paused.

"Yes."

I sat down heavily.

Ashcroft House.

The same facility associated with my mother.

The same place where Richard had supposedly received treatment after his staged death.

The same institution where Adrian Bell had worked as medical director.

And now, according to the records, a baby born on the same day as Lily had been transferred there.

"Who authorized the transfer?" I asked.

Harris hesitated.

"That's what concerns us."

"Why?"

"The authorization carries a signature."

"Whose?"

He took a breath.

"Vanessa Moore."

I closed my eyes.

Vanessa.

Again.

The woman who had entered our home as an interior designer.

The woman who had befriended Claire.

The woman who had imprisoned her.

And now her name appeared on a document connected to a child born six years earlier.

Before Vanessa supposedly entered our lives.

"That doesn't make sense," I whispered.

"I agree."

"She wasn't working for us when Lily was born."

"According to the employment records we've reviewed, no."

"Then why was she involved?"

"We're investigating."

I stared at the floor.

"Detective, I want to see Sophie."

"We have to find her first."

"And if she's Lily's twin?"

Harris remained silent.

I felt my throat tighten.

"If Claire gave birth to two daughters, someone stole one of them."

That afternoon, I visited the mansion for the first time since Claire's rescue.

Police had restricted access to the east wing, but Harris allowed me to retrieve several personal documents under supervision.

The house felt unfamiliar.

For eighteen months, I had walked through these rooms believing my wife had abandoned us.

Now every corridor seemed to conceal something.

The antique wardrobe remained displaced in the storage room.

Broken plaster still covered part of the floor.

Behind the damaged wall, the steel door stood open.

I stopped in the doorway.

A police officer waited behind me.

"Mr. Mercer?"

"Just a moment."

I stared at the chamber.

The space was narrow and windowless.

A small bed stood against one wall.

A table occupied the opposite corner.

There were shelves containing empty containers, folded blankets, and a few personal items.

Claire had lived here.

For eighteen months.

I stepped closer.

On the table lay a small notebook sealed inside an evidence bag.

I recognized the cover.

Blue fabric.

A faded silver flower.

Claire had owned a notebook like that before she disappeared.

"What's that?" I asked.

The officer looked toward the evidence bag.

"Recovered property."

"Can I see it?"

"You'll need to ask the lead investigator."

I nodded.

Then I noticed something on the wall.

Near the bed, faint scratches formed a series of vertical marks.

Groups of five.

I counted several.

Claire had been marking time.

Days.

Weeks.

Months.

My throat tightened.

Then I saw another set of marks beneath them.

Smaller.

Uneven.

Almost like a child's handwriting.

I stepped closer.

Three letters had been scratched into the plaster.

S O P

I stared at them.

My pulse accelerated.

Sop.

The beginning of Sophie?

Or something else?

"Officer," I whispered, "has anyone documented these marks?"

He approached.

"Yes, sir."

"Did they ask Claire about them?"

"I don't know."

I took a photograph with permission.

Then I left the room.

But the three letters stayed in my mind.

At four thirty, I met Detective Harris at the police station.

He had reviewed the photograph.

"The marks could mean anything," he said.

"I know."

"Don't assume they're connected to Sophie."

"I'm not assuming. I'm asking."

He nodded.

"We'll show them to Claire when she's medically ready."

I sat opposite him.

"Have you found Sophie?"

"Not yet."

"What about Vanessa?"

"She's been questioned about the transfer."

"And?"

Harris looked tired.

"She says she doesn't remember signing the document."

I laughed bitterly.

"Of course."

"But she recognized the hospital."

My pulse quickened.

"What did she say?"

"She admitted visiting the maternity ward six years ago."

I froze.

"Why?"

"She claims she was accompanying someone."

"Who?"

Harris hesitated.

"Eleanor Mercer."

My mother.

I stared at him.

"Eleanor was there when Lily was born?"

"That's what Vanessa says."

I closed my eyes.

For six years, I had believed my mother was dead.

Yet she might have been inside the hospital on the night my daughter was born.

Close enough to see her.

Close enough to touch her.

And I had known nothing.

"Did Eleanor take Sophie?"

"We don't have evidence establishing that."

"Then why was she there?"

"Vanessa claims Eleanor wanted to make sure the baby was healthy."

"Which baby?"

Harris looked at me.

"That's exactly what we asked."

I leaned forward.

"What did Vanessa say?"

He paused.

"She said Eleanor was waiting for a particular child."

My stomach tightened.

"What child?"

"She wouldn't answer."

That evening, I returned to Claire's room.

She was sitting beside the window, holding a photograph of Lily.

I sat beside her.

"Detective Harris found records from the night Lily was born."

Claire looked up.

"What records?"

"Two neonatal identification bands were issued."

Her expression changed.

"Two?"

I nodded.

"One for Lily. One for Sophie."

Claire stared at me.

"No."

"The second child was transferred to Ashcroft House."

She shook her head.

"No, Daniel."

"Vanessa signed the transfer authorization."

Claire began trembling.

"That's impossible."

I took her hand.

"Claire, I need you to think carefully."

She closed her eyes.

"About what?"

"The delivery."

She was silent.

"Did anyone tell you there were complications involving another baby?"

Tears rolled down her cheeks.

"I remember hearing crying."

My chest tightened.

"Lily?"

"I thought so."

"Was there another cry?"

Claire pressed her hand against her mouth.

"I don't know."

I waited.

Then she whispered, "There was a moment."

"What moment?"

"When I woke up after surgery."

I leaned closer.

"A nurse was standing beside me."

"The one who mentioned the second baby?"

Claire nodded.

"She looked frightened."

"What did she say?"

Claire swallowed.

"She told me everything had been taken care of."

I felt a chill.

"What did that mean?"

"I asked where my baby was."

"And?"

"She said the healthy one was with you."

I stopped breathing.

"The healthy one?"

Claire nodded.

"Those were her words."

I stared at her.

"Did you ask about the other baby?"

"I tried."

"What happened?"

"Someone gave me medication."

She began crying.

"I fell asleep again."

I held her hand.

For six years, Claire had carried a fragmented memory she believed was caused by anesthesia and exhaustion.

Now that memory might be the first indication that our family had been divided before we even knew it existed.

At eight fifteen, Harris called with another development.

"We located the nurse."

I stood.

"The one who cared for Claire?"

"Possibly. Her name is Patricia Lane."

"Where is she?"

"Retired. Living outside the city."

"Has she spoken to you?"

"Yes."

My pulse quickened.

"And?"

"She remembers the delivery."

I closed my eyes.

"Did Claire have twins?"

Harris hesitated.

"Patricia says two infants were present in the neonatal unit that night."

"That doesn't mean Claire delivered both."

"Correct."

"Then what does she remember?"

"She says there was confusion over identification records."

My stomach tightened.

"What kind of confusion?"

"One infant's documentation was changed after the delivery."

I stared at the wall.

"Changed by whom?"

"Patricia wouldn't say."

"Why?"

"She became distressed."

I rubbed my forehead.

"Detective, what happened?"

Harris took a breath.

"She told us that someone threatened her career if she questioned the transfer."

My blood ran cold.

"Who?"

"She refused to identify the person."

I closed my eyes.

Another witness.

Another secret.

Another person frightened into silence.

"Can you protect her?"

"We're arranging it."

Then Harris said something that made my heart stop.

"Daniel, Patricia asked whether the Mercer child was still alive."

I froze.

"Which Mercer child?"

"That's what we asked."

I swallowed.

"What did she say?"

Harris's voice became quiet.

"She said, 'The one they took away.'"

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

There was no greeting.

Only a photograph.

A little girl stood in a garden beside a white wooden fence.

She wore a yellow dress.

Her blonde hair fell to her shoulders.

She was smiling.

And she looked exactly like Lily.

I stared at the image.

My hands began trembling.

Then another message arrived.

Her name is Sophie.

A third followed.

She's alive.

I felt my pulse hammer.

I immediately forwarded the messages to Harris.

Then I typed a reply.

Where is she?

The response came almost instantly.

Somewhere your family can't reach her.

I stared at the screen.

Who are you?

No answer.

I tried again.

Is she my daughter?

The typing indicator appeared.

Disappeared.

Then returned.

Finally, a message arrived.

Ask Claire what happened before the surgery.

I looked toward my wife's room.

She was asleep.

I felt a chill.

Before the surgery?

Claire had told me she remembered very little.

But perhaps there was something she hadn't mentioned.

Something that happened before the emergency delivery.

I typed again.

What do you mean?

The reply came immediately.

She knows why there were two babies.

I entered Claire's room quietly.

She woke when I touched her shoulder.

"Dan?"

"I'm sorry."

She sat up.

"What's wrong?"

I showed her the photograph.

Her eyes widened.

"Oh, my God."

"That's Sophie."

She stared at the image.

Tears began rolling down her cheeks.

"She looks like Lily."

"I know."

I sat beside her.

"Claire, someone sent me a message."

"What message?"

"They said you know why there were two babies."

Her expression changed.

She looked away.

My chest tightened.

"Claire?"

"I don't understand."

"Think about the pregnancy."

She closed her eyes.

"Daniel, I was pregnant with Lily."

"Did anyone ever mention twins?"

"No."

"Not during an ultrasound?"

She shook her head.

"No."

I studied her.

Then I remembered something.

During the second trimester, Claire had been referred to a specialist after a routine scan showed an unusual finding.

At the time, she told me it was nothing serious.

I had been traveling for business and hadn't attended the appointment.

"Claire, what happened at the specialist consultation?"

She froze.

"What?"

"The appointment when you were five months pregnant."

Her face went pale.

"Why are you asking?"

"Because I remember you came home upset."

She looked down.

"I was frightened."

"About what?"

She began trembling.

"About losing the baby."

I leaned forward.

"What did the doctor say?"

Claire closed her eyes.

"He said there was a problem with the pregnancy."

"What problem?"

She whispered, "He thought there might have been another embryo."

My heart stopped.

"Another embryo?"

She nodded.

"But he said it hadn't developed normally."

I stared at her.

"Did he tell you it was gone?"

"Yes."

"Did you get another opinion?"

She shook her head.

"No."

"Who was the doctor?"

Claire hesitated.

Then she whispered a name.

"Adrian Bell."

I sat motionless.

Adrian Bell.

The physician who later examined Lily.

The man who collected her DNA.

The former medical director of Ashcroft House.

The man whose body had recently been discovered under suspicious circumstances.

He had been involved in Claire's pregnancy before Lily was born.

And he had told her a second embryo hadn't survived.

"Claire," I whispered, "why didn't you tell me?"

Tears filled her eyes.

"Because he said there was nothing we could do."

I stared at her.

"Did Vanessa recommend him?"

She nodded slowly.

"Yes."

I felt sick.

Vanessa had entered our lives through the renovation.

She had become close to Claire.

And now I was learning that she had influenced our medical decisions years before the disappearance.

"Did Bell show you any reports?"

"Yes."

"Do you still have them?"

"I don't know."

I took her hand.

"We need to find them."

Claire nodded.

Then she whispered, "Dan, what if he lied?"

I looked at the photograph of Sophie.

The same eyes.

The same smile.

The same face as Lily.

"I think we have to consider that possibility."

At 11:07 p.m., Detective Harris called.

His voice was unusually tense.

"Daniel, we have a problem."

I stood.

"What happened?"

"Patricia Lane is missing."

My stomach dropped.

"The nurse?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Officers arrived at her residence to arrange protective transport. The house was empty."

I closed my eyes.

"Did someone take her?"

"We don't know."

"Was there evidence of a struggle?"

"Not immediately."

I looked toward Claire.

She was watching me with fear.

"Detective, someone is silencing everyone connected to that delivery."

Harris didn't argue.

Instead, he said, "There's something else."

"What?"

"We found a sealed envelope at Patricia's house."

My pulse quickened.

"Addressed to whom?"

"To you."

I froze.

"Me?"

"Yes."

"What was inside?"

"A letter and a copy of a hospital record."

I gripped the phone.

"What did the letter say?"

Harris hesitated.

Then he read it aloud.