Chapter 6: The Woman in the Hospital Photograph

The hotel room was quiet when I finally got Lily settled.

I'd asked the front desk for a room where she could shower, change into dry clothes, and rest while I dealt with the paperwork. The receptionist had been kind enough not to ask questions.

Lily emerged from the bathroom wearing a white hotel robe that nearly swallowed her whole. Her pink raincoat hung over a chair, dripping into a towel.

I sat on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside me.

“Come here, sweetheart.””

She climbed onto the mattress and leaned against my shoulder.

“Are we staying here tonight?””

“Yes.””

“Are we going home tomorrow?””

I hesitated.

“We're going to make sure you're safe first.””

She thought about that.

“Can I sleep with you?””

“Of course.””

I pulled the blanket over her legs.

Within minutes, she was asleep, one hand curled around the stuffed rabbit.

I sat beside her until her breathing settled into a slow, steady rhythm.

Then I stepped into the adjoining sitting area and called Renee.

She answered on the second ring.

“Nia?””

“I'm looking at Marcus's statement.””

“I was afraid you would be.””

“Why would anyone prepare a paternity statement before Lily was born?””

There was a pause.

“I think we need to look at the original hospital photograph again.””

I opened the folder she'd left with me.

The photograph showed Marcus outside a hospital room. His expression was difficult to read, but he appeared exhausted. One hand held a paper bag; the other rested against the doorframe.

I enlarged the image on my phone.

Behind him, reflected faintly in the glass, was a woman standing near the nurses' station.

She wore a pale cardigan and held a clipboard.

“Who is that?”” I asked.

Renee was quiet for several seconds.

“That's why I need to see the photograph in person.””

“Do you recognize her?””

“I think so.””

“Who is she?””

“I don't want to tell you until I'm certain.””

I closed my eyes.

“Renee, I'm tired of people deciding how much truth I can handle.””

“I understand.””

“Then tell me what you know.””

She exhaled.

“The woman may have been connected to the hospital's records department. If I'm right, she had access to the newborn identification system.””

My fingers tightened around the phone.

“Could she have changed the records?””

“Possibly. But access doesn't prove she did.””

“Could she have switched two babies?””

“Again, the records don't prove that happened. We need the original verification file.””

I looked through the glass partition toward the bedroom.

Lily was sleeping peacefully.

Whatever the truth was, I couldn't let it become another weapon used against her.

“Where can we find the original file?””

“St. Catherine's still has an off-site archive. The hospital's legal department would need to authorize access, especially now that there's an active guardianship case.””

“Daniel has contacted them.””

“Good. Then we need to wait for his response.””

I hated the word wait.

My mother had spent six years building a wall between me and the truth. Every person who might have helped had been silenced, frightened, or persuaded to look away.

Waiting was exactly what Loretta wanted.

“I'm going to the hospital tomorrow morning,” I said.

“Don't go alone.””

“Why?””

“Because if the records are what I think they are, someone else may have a reason to keep them hidden.””

The line went silent.

Then Renee added, “Nia, there's something I haven't told you.””

I leaned against the wall.

“What?””

“The original incident report included a second infant identification number.””

My stomach tightened.

“You mean another baby?””

“Yes.””

“Was that baby's identity verified?””

“Not in the surviving report.””

I stared at the photograph.

“Was the other infant born the same night as Lily?””

“Yes.””

“And the mother?””

Renee hesitated.

“The name on the surviving copy is partially obscured. All I can make out is the surname Reed.””

I felt dizzy.

“Reed? As in Marcus?””

“I can't confirm that the name belongs to his family. It could be a coincidence, a transcription error, or something more serious. That's why we need the original record.””

I pressed my hand against my forehead.

“Why didn't you tell me this at the hotel?””

“Because your mother was standing right there, and I didn't know who else might be listening.””

I looked toward the bedroom door.

A floorboard creaked.

I turned.

Lily stood in the doorway, holding her rabbit.

“Mommy?””

I quickly ended the call.

“Hey, baby. What's wrong?””

She rubbed her eyes.

“I heard you talking about another baby.””

I crouched in front of her.

“You were supposed to be sleeping.””

“I tried.””

She looked down at the rabbit.

“Grandma told me I had a sister.””

My heart stopped.

I took both her hands.

“What did you say?””

Lily shrugged.

“She said my sister lived somewhere far away. She said I shouldn't ask about her because it made Grandma sad.””

I stared at my daughter.

“Did she tell you your sister's name?””

Lily shook her head.

“She said I would find out when I was older.””

I swallowed hard.

“Did you ever see a picture of her?””

Lily nodded.

“Grandma had one in her bedroom.””

“Can you describe it?””

“It was a little baby in a white blanket. The blanket had a yellow flower.””

I felt my chest tighten.

The hospital photograph in the folder showed a corner of a white blanket inside the room behind Marcus.

A tiny yellow flower was embroidered along its edge.

I reached for the photograph and showed it to Lily.

“Is this the blanket you saw?””

She studied the image carefully.

Then she nodded.

“That's it.””

I looked at the photograph again.

A white blanket.

A yellow flower.

Two infant identification numbers.

A name partially obscured in the surviving hospital report.

And a statement about paternity prepared before Lily was born.

The pieces weren't enough to establish what had happened, but they were enough to prove that my mother had concealed something important.

I sat Lily on the bed and called Renee back.

She answered immediately.

“What's wrong?””

“Lily says Loretta told her she had a sister.””

Renee didn't speak.

“Renee?””

Finally, she whispered, “Then we need to find the second infant's record.””

“Why?””

“Because if the second infant was connected to the same identification incident, the hospital may have documented both children in the original verification file.””

I looked at Lily.

She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, carefully smoothing her rabbit's ears.

“Could they be twins?””

“It's possible, but we cannot conclude that from a partial record or a child's recollection. We need evidence.””

“Then that's what we'll get.””

I hung up and sat beside my daughter.

“Lily, I need you to tell me something. When Grandma talked about your sister, did she ever say where she lived?””

Lily shook her head.

“Did she say who her mother was?””

Another shake.

Then she hesitated.

“She said my sister had a different mommy.””

I felt my pulse hammering in my ears.

“Did she say anything else?””

Lily looked at me.

“She said that if I ever met her, I shouldn't tell anyone we knew each other.””

I stared at my six-year-old daughter, trying to understand how a child could have been carrying this secret without realizing its significance.

Then my phone rang.

Daniel.

I answered immediately.

“Did the hospital respond?””

“They found a reference to the original verification file,” he said.

“It's still in the archive.””

I let out a breath.

“Can we see it?””

“There's a problem. The archive was accessed three days ago, and the access request was submitted under your mother's name.””

My grip tightened around the phone.

“What did she take?””

“We don't know yet. The hospital is conducting an inventory.””

I looked at Lily.

She was watching me.

“Daniel, I need you to listen carefully. My mother told Lily she had a sister. Renee found a reference to a second infant in the hospital records. And there was a photograph showing a woman near the nurses' station the night Lily was born.””

Silence.

Then Daniel said, “Nia, I think you should sit down.””

“Why?””

“Because I just received a copy of the archived access log.””

I stood motionless.

“What does it say?””

“The person who accessed the file three days ago wasn't Loretta Johnson.””

My stomach dropped.

“Then who was it?””

Daniel took a breath.

“The request was made under the name of a woman listed as the second infant's mother.””

I heard paper rustling on his end.

Then he read the name aloud.

*“Evelyn Reed.””*

Marcus's surname.

I looked at the hospital photograph one more time.

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The woman in the reflection was holding a clipboard.

And now, for the first time, I wondered whether she had been standing outside the room to protect a secret—or to make sure two babies never discovered the truth about each other.