Chapter 5: The Daughter Before Lily
Arthur drove us to his house without speaking.
Lily fell asleep in the back seat, her rabbit tucked beneath her chin.
I sat beside her, staring at the photograph.
The first baby.
The first daughter.
I had never given birth before Lily.
At least, that was what I believed.
When we arrived, Arthur locked the front door and checked every window.
His house was smaller than ours, with old photographs lining the staircase and a faint smell of coffee in the kitchen.
He placed the laptop on the dining table.
"Sit down, Nia.""
I remained standing.
"Who was that man?""
"I don't know his name.""
"Then how does he know about my daughter?""
Arthur rubbed his forehead.
"Daniel believed someone had been investigating your medical history.""
I stared at him.
"My medical history?""
"Before you met Daniel, you were treated at a private clinic.""
I felt a chill.
I had been twenty-two when I underwent emergency surgery following complications from a pregnancy.
I had been told the pregnancy had ended.
The doctors had explained that the baby hadn't survived.
I remembered the hospital room.
The white curtains.
The smell of disinfectant.
My mother's hand holding mine.
And a nurse who had refused to meet my eyes.
I had never talked about it again.
"How do you know about that?"" I asked.
Arthur looked genuinely uncomfortable.
"Daniel told me.""
"Why would Daniel know?""
"Because he found the records.""
I sat down slowly.
"What records?""
Arthur opened a folder on the laptop.
There were several scanned documents from the clinic.
One contained my name.
Another contained a date.
Then I saw a handwritten note.
*INFANT TRANSFERRED — PRIVATE MATERNAL PLACEMENT.*
I read it twice.
"What does this mean?""
Arthur didn't answer.
I turned the laptop toward him.
"Tell me.""
He took a breath.
"Daniel believed your baby survived.""
The room seemed to go silent.
"No.""
"He found a transfer record.""
"No. The doctor told me she was dead.""
Arthur nodded sadly.
"I know.""
I pushed the laptop away.
"Why would a doctor tell a mother her baby was dead if she was alive?""
Arthur stared at the table.
"Money. Adoption arrangements. Someone wanted the child removed from the records.""
I covered my mouth.
My hands began to shake.
I remembered waking up after surgery and asking about the baby.
I remembered the doctor saying there had been complications.
I remembered crying until my throat hurt.
And I remembered my mother telling me that perhaps it was better not to ask too many questions.
She had said I needed to move forward.
She had said I would have another chance.
I had believed her.
"Did Daniel know where my daughter went?""
Arthur nodded.
"He found a name.""
I looked up.
"Whose?""
He turned the laptop around.
A hospital placement form appeared.
The receiving guardian's name had been partially obscured by a black mark.
But the signature at the bottom was clear.
Margaret Whitmore.
I felt sick.
"Your wife?""
Arthur nodded.
"She was involved?""
"Daniel believed she had arranged the transfer.""
I stood so quickly my chair fell backward.
"She took my baby?""
"I don't know the whole story.""
"She took my child and then came to my husband's funeral pretending she had a secret to share?""
Arthur raised both hands.
"Nia, please.""
"Don't tell me to calm down.""
"I wouldn't.""
I began pacing.
The silver key lay on the table.
The same key Margaret had placed in Lily's tiny hand.
Suddenly, I remembered something.
At the funeral, Lily had said Grandma promised Daddy would wake up.
But what if Margaret hadn't been talking about Daniel?
What if she had been talking about someone else?
I turned toward Arthur.
"Where is Margaret?""
"I don't know.""
"Call her.""
He hesitated.
"Arthur.""
He picked up his phone.
Margaret answered after the first ring.
"Arthur?""
His voice was sharp.
"Where are you?""
A pause.
"Somewhere safe.""
"Did you take Nia's baby?""
I heard a sharp intake of breath through the speaker.
Then Margaret said, "I was afraid this would happen.""
I grabbed the phone.
"You stole my daughter.""
"No, Nia.""
"Don't lie to me!""
Margaret's voice trembled.
"I didn't steal her. I saved her.""
"From what?""
Silence.
"Tell me where she is.""
"I don't know where she is now.""
My heart pounded.
"What do you mean, you don't know?""
"I arranged for her to be placed with a family who could protect her. I was told they had moved away.""
"Why would you do that?""
"Because your mother begged me.""
I stopped breathing.
"My mother?""
Margaret continued.
"Your mother knew the baby was alive. She signed the papers. She wanted the child gone.""
I felt as though the floor had opened beneath me.
My mother had died four years earlier.
She had taken that secret to her grave.
"Why?"" I whispered.
Margaret was crying now.
"Because your first daughter wasn't Daniel's child.""
I gripped the edge of the table.
"What?""
"Your mother told me the father was dangerous. She said he had threatened you. She believed that if the baby stayed with you, he would find her.""
I shook my head.
"Who was the father?""
Margaret didn't answer.
"Tell me!""
A long silence followed.
Then she whispered, "Ethan.""
The name struck me like a physical blow.
Ethan Whitmore.
Daniel's missing twin brother.
The same man whose photograph was sitting on my laptop.
The same man who had been outside my house.
I looked at Arthur.
His face had turned white.
"Margaret," I whispered into the phone, "why would Ethan be the father of my first child?""
Her answer came quietly.
"Because he knew you before Daniel did.""
I couldn't speak.
Then Margaret said something even worse.
"Daniel didn't meet you by chance, Nia. He found you because he was searching for Ethan.""
The call disconnected.
I stared at the phone.
Arthur slowly sat down.
"There's something else," he said.
I looked at him.
"How much more?""
He opened another folder.
Inside was a photograph of a young woman standing beside a school entrance.
She looked about eighteen.
Dark hair.
Brown eyes.
A familiar smile.
I leaned closer.
The resemblance was unmistakable.
She looked like me.
At the bottom of the photograph was a handwritten name.
*LILY ANN WHITMORE.*
I stared at it.
Then I turned toward the sleeping little girl on the sofa.
My daughter was five.
The girl in the photograph was at least eighteen.
Arthur whispered, "Daniel found her last month.""
My knees weakened.
"Where?""
He pointed to a location written beneath the photograph.
A private boarding school in Connecticut.
Then my phone vibrated.
An incoming message.
Unknown number.
*YOUR FIRST DAUGHTER IS ALIVE. BUT IF YOU WANT TO SEE HER AGAIN, DON'T TRUST MARGARET.*
I looked at the message.
May you like
A second one arrived.
*AND DON'T TELL DANIEL'S BROTHER THAT YOU KNOW.*
