Chapter 4 - THE SECRET BIRTH
We didn't sleep that night.
By sunrise, Rebecca and I were sitting at my kitchen table surrounded by copies of documents we had photographed in Robert Whitmore's study.
Every answer created three new questions.
Who was Emma Vale?
Why had she given birth one day before Lily?
Why had Daniel paid her $1.25 million?
And most importantly, why did the records suggest Lily had been connected to Emma before I ever knew she existed?
At seven in the morning, my phone rang.
Dr. Sloan.
“Claire, are you awake?”
“Yes.”
“I need to speak with you.”
“About the DNA test?”
“About the real test.”
My heart stopped.
“What did you find?”
“I can't discuss the details over the phone.”
“Why?”
“Because there is a complication.”
“What kind?”
“Your daughter may not be biologically related to Daniel.”
I closed my eyes.
I already knew that.
“What about me?”
Silence.
That silence terrified me.
“Dr. Sloan?”
“I need you to come to the laboratory.”
Rebecca looked at me.
I nodded.
“I'll be there.”
Two hours later, I sat in a private consultation room at Commonwealth Forensic Genetics.
Dr. Sloan placed a sealed folder on the table.
“This is the preliminary report.”
I opened it.
The first result was exactly what I expected.
Daniel was excluded as Lily's biological father.
But the second result made my hands freeze.
The maternal relationship was not consistent with the sample provided under my name.
I looked up.
“What does that mean?”
Dr. Sloan spoke carefully.
“It means the biological mother of the child tested was not Claire Whitmore.”
I stared at her.
“No.”
“I know.”
“No.”
“Claire—”
“You tested the wrong sample.”
“We repeated it.”
“No.”
I stood.
“You have my DNA.”
“Yes.”
“Then something is wrong.”
Dr. Sloan nodded.
“That's why I called you.”
She placed another document on the table.
“The child you brought in for testing is genetically unrelated to you.”
I felt as if someone had struck me.
“That's impossible.”
“Biologically, it is.”
“She's my daughter.”
“I know.”
“She came out of my body.”
Dr. Sloan's expression softened.
“Claire…”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“I carried her.”
She didn't argue.
“I remember the pregnancy.”
“I know.”
“I remember the delivery.”
“I know.”
“I remember holding her.”
“I know.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“Then how can she not be mine?”
Dr. Sloan opened another file.
“We reviewed the hospital records from March 2019.”
I looked at her.
“There was an anomaly.”
“What anomaly?”
“The hospital recorded two emergency deliveries within forty minutes.”
My breathing stopped.
“Two?”
“One was you.”
“And the other?”
“Emma Vale.”
I stared at her.
Dr. Sloan continued.
“Both women delivered girls.”
The room became silent.
“Where are those children now?”
Dr. Sloan looked at me.
“One was discharged with you.”
“And the other?”
“Records indicate she died shortly after birth.”
My heart stopped.
“No.”
Dr. Sloan nodded slowly.
“But the documentation is inconsistent.”
“What does that mean?”
“The death certificate was filed three days after the alleged death.”
“By whom?”
“Daniel Whitmore.”
I couldn't speak.
Dr. Sloan pushed another paper toward me.
“This is why we need a full investigation.”
I stared at Daniel's signature.
Then I understood.
The fake DNA test wasn't designed merely to prove Lily wasn't Daniel's daughter.
It was designed to create a legal excuse to remove Lily from me.
But why?
Unless Lily wasn't supposed to be with me either.
My mind raced.
“What happened to Emma's daughter?”
“We don't know.”
“And Lily?”
“Your hospital records show you gave birth to a daughter.”
“Yes.”
“But the genetic evidence says the child you're raising was born to someone else.”
I felt sick.
“Then who is my biological daughter?”
Dr. Sloan looked at me.
“We don't know.”
I closed my eyes.
For four years, I had believed my daughter was sleeping upstairs.
Now I had to consider the impossible.
Had someone switched our babies?
Had Daniel arranged it?
Had someone at the hospital participated?
And where was my biological child?
I left the laboratory with Rebecca.
Neither of us spoke for several minutes.
Finally she said, “Claire.”
“I don't know what to do.”
“We find Emma.”
I looked at her.
“She might be dead.”
“Then we find out what happened.”
I nodded.
We started with public records.
Emma Vale had no current address.
No active business.
No social media.
No recent property.
But there was an old apartment lease in Richmond.
We drove there.
The building manager remembered her.
“Emma?”
“Yes.”
“She moved.”
“When?”
“About three years ago.”
“Do you know where?”
The manager hesitated.
“California, I think.”
“Did she have a child?”
The woman frowned.
“Emma was pregnant when she lived here.”
“Did she have a baby?”
“I heard she lost the baby.”
I felt my stomach turn.
“Are you sure?”
“That was the story.”
“Who told you?”
“Her landlord.”
“Who was the landlord?”
“Daniel Whitmore.”
Rebecca and I looked at each other.
The trail kept leading back to him.
That afternoon, we discovered Emma had once worked at a private nursing facility.
The receptionist remembered her.
“She was very quiet.”
“Did she have a daughter?”
The woman looked uncomfortable.
“Yes.”
“What was her name?”
“I don't know.”
“Do you remember anything about the child?”
“She used to say the baby wasn't hers.”
I froze.
“What?”
The receptionist lowered her voice.
“She said someone had taken her daughter.”
Rebecca stepped forward.
“Who?”
“She never said.”
I looked at her.
“Did Emma leave any contact information?”
The woman thought.
“Actually…”
She walked into a back office.
A minute later, she returned with a small envelope.
“This was left for me.”
Inside was a handwritten note.
If Claire Whitmore ever comes looking, tell her I never abandoned my daughter.
My hands shook.
On the bottom was an address.
Not California.
Virginia.
A rural address outside Charlottesville.
We drove there before sunset.
The house was empty.
The mailbox was rusted.
But someone had been there recently.
A child's bicycle leaned against the porch.
Rebecca whispered, “Someone lives here.”
Then a voice came from behind us.
“Are you Claire?”
We turned.
An elderly woman stood near a garden gate.
“Yes.”
She stared at me for several seconds.
Then her face changed.
“You look exactly like your mother.”
I froze.
“My mother?”
The woman nodded.
“Emma told me you'd come eventually.”
My heart stopped.
“Where is she?”
The woman looked toward the house.
“She left yesterday.”
“Where did she go?”
“I don't know.”
“Please.”
The woman studied me.
Then she said something that made my entire body go cold.
“She's looking for the other little girl.”
“What little girl?”
“Your daughter.”
I couldn't breathe.
The woman continued.
“Emma always said Daniel stole her baby.”
I whispered, “Which baby?”
May you like
She looked directly at me.
“The one he told everyone was dead.”
