Chapter 7: My Mother Was the Patient
I read the word three times before it made sense.
WIFE.
My mother's name was written across the hospital admission form, followed by a patient number that matched the record in my hand. Someone had crossed out the original name and replaced it with hers, using a different pen.
I stood in the middle of the archive room, surrounded by shelves of forgotten records, wearing a wedding gown that suddenly felt like a costume from someone else's life.
My father had been transferred alive.
My mother had been admitted under his patient number.
And Marcus's father had been standing beside his hospital bed.
What had happened to my family?
I turned the paper over, searching for another clue. At the bottom, beneath a faded hospital stamp, someone had written a series of initials.
T.B.
Then a date.
Three days after the night my father supposedly died.
I pressed the form against my chest and tried to breathe.
"No," I whispered.
"That doesn't make sense.""
A metal door slammed somewhere in the corridor.
I froze.
Footsteps approached, slow and measured.
I hurried to the doorway and looked through the narrow opening. The corridor was empty, but the sound of footsteps continued from the stairwell.
Someone was coming downstairs.
I slipped the admission form and photograph into the envelope, then tucked it beneath the folds of my gown. The silver watch and key were still in my hand.
"Hello?"" I called.
No answer.
The footsteps stopped outside Room Seventeen.
A shadow moved beneath the door.
Then I heard a familiar voice.
"Ava?""
Marcus.
My stomach tightened.
I stepped into the doorway.
He stood beneath the bright ceiling lights, still wearing his black wedding tuxedo. His white rose had fallen from his lapel, leaving a small pinhole in the fabric. His hair was no longer perfect, and his breathing was uneven.
"What are you doing here?"" I asked.
He looked past me into the room.
"Where did you get the key?""
"You already know about the key.""
"I know it belonged to the hospital.""
"That's not what I asked.""
He rubbed his jaw.
"I followed you because I knew you wouldn't stop.""
"Then you know why I'm here.""
Marcus glanced at the envelope beneath my arm.
"Did you find something?""
I held his gaze.
"My mother was listed as a patient under my father's hospital number.""
He went still.
"Show me.""
"No.""
"Ava, please.""
"Why? So you can take it away like my aunt took away every answer I've ever asked for?""
He looked genuinely wounded.
"I didn't know about your mother.""
"Did you know about my father?""
He didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
"Marcus, look at me. Did your father know Thomas Bennett?""
"Yes.""
"Did he know what happened the night my father disappeared?""
Marcus closed his eyes briefly.
"My father worked in hospital administration. He handled transfers, insurance disputes, confidential records. He knew a lot of people.""
"Stop hiding behind his job.""
He opened his eyes.
"I was twenty-one when he died. There were files in his office that I wasn't allowed to touch. One of them had your father's name on it.""
My fingers tightened around the watch.
"What did it say?""
"I don't know.""
"You're lying.""
"I'm telling you what I remember!""
His voice echoed down the corridor.
We both fell silent.
Marcus looked toward the stairwell, then lowered his voice.
"I was home from college. My father was arguing with someone on the phone. I heard him say that Thomas Bennett had to remain officially deceased until the investigation was closed.""
The room seemed to tilt.
"Officially deceased?""
Marcus nodded.
"I asked him what it meant. He told me to forget I'd heard anything.""
"And you did?""
His expression crumpled.
"I was young. My father frightened me when he got angry. He told me our family could lose everything if I repeated what I'd heard.""
I stared at him.
"You knew there was something wrong with my father's death, and you still pursued me?""
"I didn't know it was your father when I first met you.""
"But you recognized his name eventually.""
Marcus looked away.
"When you told me your father's name, I remembered the argument. I tried to find the old files, but they were gone.""
"When?""
"Last year.""
I felt sick.
"You've known for a year?""
"I knew there was a connection. I didn't know your father had survived. I didn't know about the watch or the key.""
"But you never told me.""
"I was afraid.""
"Of what?""
He swallowed.
"That if I told you, you'd leave me before I could find out what my father had done.""
I stared at him.
He had built an entire future with me while keeping the one truth that might destroy it locked behind his teeth.
"You should have told me.""
"I know.""
"No, you don't."" My voice broke.
"You don't know what it feels like to grow up believing your father abandoned you, then discover that everyone who supposedly loved you helped bury the truth.""
Marcus reached toward me.
I stepped back.
"Don't.""
He lowered his hand.
"I can help you find out what happened.""
"Why should I trust you?""
"You shouldn't," he said quietly.
"Not yet.""
That answer surprised me.
For the first time, he wasn't asking me to believe him. He was admitting that I had every reason not to.
I turned back toward the archive room.
The ledger on the desk had fallen open. I hadn't noticed it before, but several pages contained handwritten transfer numbers. The same patient number appeared beside three separate entries.
The first was dated the night of the accident.
The second was dated three days later.
The third was dated eleven years ago.
My mother's death.
I ran my finger beneath the final entry.
PATIENT STATUS: DECEASED.
Then I noticed the name beside it.
Not my mother's.
Not my father's.
Renee.
I backed away from the ledger.
Marcus came to the doorway.
"What is it?""
I pointed to the page.
He leaned forward.
"Renee?""
"Josiah's mother.""
Marcus stared at the entry.
The color drained from his face.
"No," he whispered.
I turned toward him.
"What do you know about Renee?""
He looked at the date again.
"That can't be right.""
"Why?""
"Because my father told me she died.""
I felt the air leave my lungs.
"Your father knew her?""
Marcus nodded slowly.
"He said she was a nurse who had been involved in a serious hospital incident. He told me she died before the investigation was finished.""
I thought of the woman outside the chapel, clutching Josiah as though the world might snatch him away.
She was alive.
She had sent her son to me.
And someone had entered her name into a hospital ledger as deceased.
I turned the page.
A folded sheet slipped from between the records and landed at my feet.
It was a list of authorized visitors.
Three names appeared beneath a date from eleven years earlier.
Lorraine Bennett.
Marcus Hale.
And, written in the final line, the name of the person who had signed the release.
Thomas Bennett.
My father's signature.
I stared at it until the letters blurred.
Then the lights above us flickered once.
Marcus looked toward the door.
A second later, the sound of a lock turning echoed from the corridor entrance.
Someone had locked the basement from the outside.
May you like
And a man's voice called through the metal door.
"Mr. Hale? We need you to come upstairs. Your father left instructions about this room.""
