“I noticed discrepancies.”
“Then why didn’t you report them?”
“I did.”
He explained that the neonatal admission information he’d seen earlier was no longer visible in the system.
There were also inconsistencies in the delivery documentation.
“How could that happen?” I asked.
“That’s what I wanted to understand.”
“Who changed the records?”
“I wasn’t able to identify the person.”
“Could the hospital investigate?”
“Yes.”
“And did they?”
“I submitted a formal concern. Later, I received a notice stating the matter had been reviewed and no irregularities were found.”
He paused.
“That same week, I learned my contract wouldn’t be renewed.”
I sat down again.
“Why didn’t you contact me?”
“I tried.”
I looked up.
“When?”
“The day after you were discharged.”
“What happened?”
“I spoke with Lucas.”
My chest tightened.
“What did he say?”
“He told me you were struggling emotionally and that discussing the delivery could affect your recovery.”
I stared at the floor.
Dr. Patel continued.
“He said you had accepted the information you were given and didn’t want to discuss the matter further.”
I covered my mouth.
Every time Lucas had comforted me.
Every time he’d promised that we would get through this together.
Every time he’d encouraged me to stop asking questions.
I suddenly wondered what else he’d been hiding.
“Who was the woman?” I asked.
Dr. Patel frowned.
“What woman?”
“The one Toby saw at the hospital.”
“I don’t know.”
“She may have visited my room.”
“When?”
“While I was still admitted.”
He thought for a moment.
“Do you remember anything about her?”
I closed my eyes.
Pieces of memory returned.
A dim hospital room.
Someone standing near the foot of my bed.
A woman’s voice.
Red hair.
I had assumed she was part of the hospital staff.
Or perhaps it had been a dream.
“She asked whether I needed help resting,” I whispered.
Dr. Patel looked concerned.
“Was she wearing a hospital identification badge?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Then we should request the visitor logs as part of the review.”
I nodded.
He wrote his contact information on a piece of paper.
“If you uncover anything else, you can reach me directly. And Claire, I strongly recommend speaking with an attorney who can help you request the records formally.”
I slipped the paper into my purse.
Then remembered the bank transfer.
“Doctor, do you recognize the name Keller?”
He looked up immediately.
“What first name?”
“I only have an initial. B. Keller.”
His expression changed.
“There was a neonatal nurse here about five years ago.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“What was her name?”
“Beth Keller.”
Red hair.
Suddenly, I remembered a Christmas party years earlier.
Lucas standing beside a woman with red hair.
They’d been laughing together.
Her hand was resting on his arm.
I whispered,
“Beth.”
Dr. Patel watched me carefully.
“You know her?”
“She used to work with my husband.”
“How well?”
I hesitated.
“I don’t know.”
But even as I said it, more memories surfaced.
Six years earlier, Lucas had worked in medical equipment sales.
Beth Keller had been one of his hospital contacts.
They’d become friends.
Perhaps too friendly.
Brenda had once made an awkward remark about how much time they spent together.
When I asked Lucas about it, he laughed.
“Beth? Seriously?”
A few months later, Beth left her job.
Lucas told me she’d moved away.
I drove home with a thousand questions.
But I didn’t confront Lucas.
Instead, I began searching through old files on our shared computer.
Emails.
Photographs.
Archived documents.
Then I found a picture from a company Christmas party seven years earlier.
Lucas stood in the middle.
Beth Keller was beside him.
Her arm rested around his waist.
On his other side stood Brenda.
All three were smiling.
I enlarged the photograph.
Behind them was a banner.
MERCY FAMILIES FOUNDATION.
I searched for the organization.
It was described as a nonprofit supporting families experiencing infertility, complicated pregnancies, and infant loss.
The current board directory wasn’t publicly available.
But an old fundraising brochure included several former volunteers.
One name made me stop breathing.
Brenda Morgan.
My mother-in-law.
I leaned back from the computer.
Then the front door opened.
“Claire?”
Lucas.
I quickly minimized the files.
He entered carrying grocery bags.
“You went out today?”
“I needed some fresh air.”
His gaze moved toward the computer.
“What were you doing?”
“Looking at old photographs.”
He smiled.
“That sounds risky.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“You always find embarrassing pictures of me.”
He carried the groceries into the kitchen.
I watched him put everything away.
He looked so ordinary.
The man who remembered I preferred green apples.
The husband who warmed my side of the bed in winter.
The person who’d helped me choose our daughter’s name.
Emma.
We had named her Emma.
And somewhere, perhaps…
I stopped myself.
I couldn’t allow hope to become certainty without proof.
Lucas turned.
“Are you okay?”
“Just tired.”
He approached and kissed my forehead.
For the first time, the familiar gesture brought no comfort.
That evening, Brenda arrived unexpectedly.
She carried a container of homemade soup.
“I thought you might like something warm for dinner.”
Her smile was gentle.
Motherly.
But I couldn’t look at her the same way anymore.
“Is Toby upstairs?”
“Yes.”
“Poor sweetheart.”
She started toward the staircase.
“Brenda.”
She stopped.
“Yes?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you remember Beth Keller?”
For a moment, the color disappeared from her face.
Then she recovered.
“Beth Keller?”
“The red-haired nurse who used to work with Lucas.”
“Oh. Her.”
“So you remember her?”
“Vaguely.”
I studied her expression.
“You volunteered with her organization.”
Brenda carefully placed the soup on the counter.
“I’ve supported plenty of charities over the years.”
“Mercy Families Foundation.”
Her eyes sharpened.
“Where did you hear about that?”
I noticed what she hadn’t asked.
Not what organization?
Not why are you interested?
She wanted to know where I’d found the information.
“Why?” I asked.
“No reason.”
“You seem concerned.”
“I’m worried about you, Claire.”
She stepped closer.
“You’ve been through a terrible experience.”
“Yes. Everyone keeps reminding me.”
“Sometimes grief makes people search for answers in places where there aren’t any.”
The words sounded familiar.
Almost like something Lucas had said.
I looked directly at her.
“Did you see Emma after she was born?”
Brenda stopped moving.
“Claire…”
“Did you see my daughter?”
Her expression tightened.
“Yes.”
My heart began racing.
“Was she alive?”
Tears appeared in Brenda’s eyes.
“Please don’t make this harder.”
“Brenda. Was Emma alive when you saw her?”
She lowered her head.
“Yes.”
I grabbed the back of a chair.
For several seconds, I couldn’t speak.
Then I asked,
“What happened afterward?”
“Lucas told me there had been complications.”
“Did you personally confirm what happened to her?”
“No.”
“Did you see her again?”
Brenda shook her head.
“Then how do you know she died?”
“Lucas told me.”
Of course.
I stepped closer.
“Toby saw Beth Keller at the hospital.”
Brenda went silent.
Her eyes moved toward the staircase.
Only for a second.
But I noticed.
“You knew Beth was there.”
“No.”
“Brenda, please.”
She sighed.
“I knew she visited.”
“Why?”
Her expression changed.
Fear.
Real fear.
“Because Lucas contacted her.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why would he call Beth?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re not telling me everything.”
“I swear I don’t know the whole story.”
I stared at her.
“What was in the envelope?”
Brenda froze.
Then she looked at me sharply.
“What envelope?”
I hadn’t told her about Toby’s description.
And her reaction said enough.
“You knew money was involved.”
“Claire, listen to me.”
I stepped backward.
“No. Tell me what happened.”
Brenda looked toward the front windows.
Then lowered her voice.
“Right now, the most important thing is that you don’t confront Lucas before you have someone helping you.”
I went still.
“Why?”
“Because there are things about this situation you don’t understand yet.”
“Then explain them.”
Before she could answer, headlights appeared across the living room wall.
A vehicle entered the driveway.
Lucas.
Brenda stepped closer.
“Take Toby somewhere tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere you trust.”
“Why?”
“And make sure someone knows where you are.”
“Brenda—”
The garage door began opening.
She lowered her voice even further.
“If Lucas asks, we were only discussing dinner.”
Then she stepped away.
The door opened.
Lucas entered.
He smiled when he saw his mother.
“Mom. What are you doing here?”
“Just bringing some soup.”
Her voice sounded completely normal.
For the next twenty minutes, I sat with them at the kitchen table.
I answered ordinary questions.
I nodded at ordinary comments.
All while trying to understand how my life had become something I barely recognized.
Then Toby came downstairs.
The moment he noticed Brenda, he stopped.
She looked toward him.
Something passed between them.
Recognition.
Uncertainty.
Guilt.
Toby immediately turned around.
“I’m not hungry.”
Lucas frowned.
“Hey, buddy. Come sit with us.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Toby.”
“Let him go upstairs,” I said gently.
Lucas looked at me.
Then at Brenda.
She stood.
“I should get going.”
Lucas offered to walk her outside.