PART 9 — THE GIRL NAMED EMILY
Nobody spoke for several seconds.
My mother was still leaning against the cruiser, one hand covering her mouth.
Dad sat handcuffed nearby, staring at the pavement like he had aged ten years in ten minutes.
And I stood there trying to understand how a life could be mine for thirty years and still belong to someone else.
Claire Mercer.
Aaron Mercer.
Emily Collins.
Two babies.
One forged death certificate.
One stolen identity.
One missing child.
Lily’s voice broke the silence.
“Mom…”
I looked at her.
Her face was pale.
“What?”
“If you were Claire’s baby…”
She looked toward Grandma.
“Then where is Emily?”
Nobody answered.
Detective Owens finally said, “That is exactly what we need to determine.”
My mother shook her head.
“No.”
Owens looked at her.
“What?”
She straightened slowly.
“There’s something wrong.”
“What?”
“I remember bringing Aaron home.”
I stared at her.
“You mean me.”
“Yes.”
Her voice shook.
“I remember holding you in the car.”
“That doesn’t prove which baby you brought home.”
“I know.”
She closed her eyes.
“But I also remember something else.”
“What?”
“The first night.”
Dad looked up.
Mom continued.
“You wouldn’t stop crying.”
“That seems normal for a newborn.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“The sound was different.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“I had heard my baby cry in the hospital.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Before they took her to the nursery.”
Lily went completely still.
Mom continued.
“When we got home, the cry didn’t sound the same.”
My stomach turned.
“You noticed?”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing?”
“I thought I was exhausted.”
She started sobbing.
“I thought I was being crazy.”
Dad whispered, “Donna…”
She rounded on him.
“You told me babies sounded different after feeding!”
Dad looked down.
“You noticed too?”
“He noticed I was worried.”
She looked back at me.
“But I never imagined…”
Her voice broke.
I didn’t know what hurt worse.
That she had noticed.
Or that nobody had listened.
Owens asked, “Did you ever see the hospital bracelet after discharge?”
Mom froze.
“I think so.”
“You think?”
“I remember one.”
“Whose name was on it?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Dad suddenly said, “It didn’t have a name.”
Everyone looked at him.
Mom stared.
“What?”
Dad’s face changed.
He realized he had spoken too quickly.
I stepped toward him.
“How do you know?”
He said nothing.
“Dad.”
Owens moved closer.
“Richard, answer her.”
Dad swallowed.
“The bracelet was blank.”
My mother looked horrified.
“That’s impossible.”
“It wasn’t completely blank.”
“What was on it?”
“A number.”
Owens asked, “What number?”
Dad closed his eyes.
“I don’t remember.”
Mom whispered, “You changed the bracelet.”
Dad’s head snapped up.
“No.”
“You did.”
“I did not.”
“You knew it was blank.”
“Because I saw it.”
“When?”
“At home.”
My mother shook her head.
“No.”
“I swear.”
But now every word he said sounded contaminated.
I looked at Owens.
“Can the hospital records tell us which baby had which bracelet number?”
“Possibly.”
“How fast?”
“I’ve already asked.”
His phone buzzed.
He glanced down.
His face tightened.
“What?”
I asked.
“The archive is sending scanned intake records.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
We waited less than a minute.
Then he opened the attachment.
He zoomed in.
Read.
Then looked at me.
“What?”
“There are two infant identification numbers.”
My chest tightened.
“One assigned to Claire’s baby.”
“Yes.”
“And one to Donna’s?”
“Yes.”
“What numbers?”
He read them.
“Claire Mercer’s infant: 971104.”
“Donna Collins’s infant: 971105.”
Mom whispered, “One number apart.”
Owens nodded.
I asked, “Does that help?”
“Maybe.”
He scrolled.
Then stopped.
“What?”
“There’s a discharge sheet.”
“Whose?”
He read silently.
Then looked at Mom.
“The baby discharged to Donna Collins was tagged 971104.”
Every part of me went cold.
“That was Claire’s baby.”
“Yes.”
Mom started shaking.
“No.”
Owens continued.
“And the infant listed as deceased was 971105.”
Donna’s baby.
Emily.
My mother covered her face and screamed.
Not cried.
Screamed.
A sound so raw that even the officers looked away.
“My baby.”
I stood frozen.
Lily immediately moved toward her grandmother.
But Mom held up one hand.
“No.”
Her voice was broken.
“No, sweetheart.”
Then she looked at me.
“I loved you.”
I couldn’t answer.
She came one step closer.
“I need you to know that.”
My throat tightened.
“I know.”
And I did.
Whatever had happened at that hospital, she had raised me.
Loved me.
Protected me.
Failed me in terrible ways, yes.
But she had been my mother.
That truth didn’t disappear just because another truth existed underneath it.
Owens’s phone rang again.
He answered.
“Detective Owens.”
His expression changed immediately.
“Yes.”
A pause.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Where?”
He turned away from us.
“Do not approach her alone.”
My stomach dropped.
When he ended the call, I stepped closer.
“What happened?”
He looked at me.
“They found Rebecca Sloan.”
The woman with the scar.
The woman connected to Daniel.
The woman who could forge documents.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“A nursing facility outside Cedar Falls.”
My pulse quickened.
“She’s been there?”
“For eleven months.”
“Can she talk?”
“They believe so.”
“Then I want to see her.”
Owens shook his head.
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because someone visited her this morning.”
I knew before he said it.
“Daniel.”
“Possibly.”
“Did the facility get video?”
“Yes.”
“Does it show his face?”
“Partially.”
Dad suddenly spoke.
“He’ll kill her.”
Owens looked at him.
“What?”
Dad leaned forward.
“If Rebecca knows what happened at the hospital, Daniel will silence her.”
“Officers are already going.”
“Send more.”
Owens gave him a hard look.
“You don’t get to direct this investigation.”
Dad didn’t argue.
He only said, “You don’t understand how dangerous he is.”
I turned toward him.
“Then tell us everything.”
“I have.”
“No.”
I pointed toward the hospital records.
“You knew about the blank bracelet.”
He stared at me.
“What else have you kept?”
“Aaron—”
“No more secrets.”
He looked at Mom.
She stared back at him.
Then Dad whispered, “There was a call.”
Mom frowned.
“What call?”
“The hospital.”
“When?”
“Two days after we brought Aaron home.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did they say?”
Dad hesitated.
“Someone from administration asked whether there had been any confusion with the infant.”
Mom’s mouth fell open.
“You never told me.”
“I thought it was a scam.”
“What did they ask?”
“If the bracelet was intact.”
“And?”
“I said yes.”
“But it wasn’t.”
Dad looked ashamed.
“It had been cut.”
Silence.
Mom whispered, “Richard…”
Dad continued.
“I found it in the diaper bag.”
“Cut?”
“Yes.”
“With scissors?”
“Clean cut.”
Owens asked, “Did you keep it?”
Dad nodded.
“Where?”
“In the hidden room.”
The empty room.
The room Daniel had cleared.
My stomach dropped.
“So he has it now.”
“Probably.”
Owens asked, “What happened after the call?”
Dad looked at me.
“I drove back to the hospital.”
Mom stared at him.
“You did what?”
“I wanted answers.”
“Without telling me?”
“Yes.”
“What did they tell you?”
“That there was no problem.”
Owens said, “Who did you speak with?”
Dad shook his head.
“I don’t remember his name.”
“Doctor?”
“Administrator.”
“Did you sign anything?”
Dad’s expression changed.
That was enough.
“What did you sign?”
I asked.
“A confidentiality form.”
Owens looked sharply at him.
“About what?”
Dad swallowed.
“They told me there had been a clerical error.”
“What kind?”
“They said the bracelet number had been entered incorrectly.”
“But that was a lie.”
“I know that now.”
“Did they pay you?”
Dad went silent.
Mom stared at him.
“Richard.”
He looked at her.
“They reimbursed medical costs.”
“How much?”
“Twenty thousand dollars.”
Mom slapped him.
Hard.
The sound cracked through the street.
Nobody stopped her.
“You took money?”
“It wasn’t like—”
She slapped him again.
“I swear to God, if you say that one more time—”
Dad lowered his head.
“You took money after someone called asking if we had the wrong baby?”
“I didn’t believe we did.”
“You didn’t want to believe it!”
Dad said nothing.
Mom was shaking.
“You bought silence.”
“I thought I was protecting us.”
“You were protecting yourself from having to know.”
That hit him.
I could see it.
Then Owens’s phone rang again.
He looked at the screen.
“Facility.”
He answered immediately.
“Yes?”
We watched his face.
“What?”
His expression hardened.
“Secure the room.”
He ended the call.
I stepped closer.
“What happened?”
“They reached Rebecca.”
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
“Did she say anything?”
Owens looked directly at me.
“She gave them a name.”
My heart started pounding.
“What name?”
“Emily.”
Mom made a sound.
Owens continued.
“They asked if Emily Collins survived.”
I could barely speak.
“What did she say?”
He paused.
“She said yes.”
My mother collapsed to her knees.
Lily rushed to her.
I felt dizzy.
“Emily is alive?”
“According to Rebecca.”
“Where?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
“Why?”
“Because she says Daniel will kill her if he finds her.”
Dad whispered, “He already found Rebecca.”
Owens nodded.
“And Rebecca knows it.”
“What else did she say?”
Owens checked his notes.
“She said the hospital switch was intentional.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who ordered it?”
“She hasn’t answered that yet.”
“Was it Daniel?”
Owens looked at me.
“She said no.”
That surprised everyone.
“Then who?”
“She refuses to give the name over the phone.”
Dad stared at him.
“Then get there.”
Owens ignored him.
I asked, “Why would she switch two babies?”
Owens looked at Mom.
“Rebecca said one child needed to disappear.”
My skin prickled.
“Which child?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
Then Madison spoke from behind us.
“Maybe the baby wasn’t the target.”
We all turned.
“What do you mean?”
She looked nervous.
“What if the mother was?”
Owens’s eyes narrowed.
“Explain.”
Madison shrugged.
“If someone wanted everyone to think Claire’s baby died, then Claire would lose her child.”
I stared at her.
“And if Donna took Claire’s baby without knowing…”
Lily finished quietly.
“Then Emily could be taken somewhere else.”
Owens looked thoughtful.
Dad suddenly whispered, “Oh no.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
He had gone pale.
“Claire didn’t disappear before the birth.”
Mom stared.
“What are you talking about?”
Dad looked at me.
“I was wrong.”
“About what?”
“The date.”
Owens said, “Be specific.”
Dad swallowed.
“Claire contacted me after Aaron was born.”
Silence.
Mom whispered, “No.”
Dad nodded.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Three days later.”
My heart pounded.
“What did she say?”
“She was crying.”
“What did she want?”
“She kept asking one question.”
“What?”
Dad looked at me.
“She asked where her son was.”
My breathing stopped.
“Her son.”
“Yes.”
“So she knew her baby was alive.”
Dad nodded.
“Then why did you think she disappeared?”
“Because after that call, I never heard from her again.”
Owens asked, “Did she say where she was?”
“No.”
“Did she mention Emily?”
Dad shook his head.
“She didn’t know there was an Emily.”
I looked at Mom.
She seemed barely conscious.
Then Owens’s phone buzzed again.
Another message.
He read it.
His face went still.
“What now?”
I asked.
He looked at me.
“Rebecca Sloan just agreed to talk.”
My pulse jumped.
“She’s asking specifically for you.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She says there’s something she needs to tell you before Daniel finds her.”
“What?”
Owens swallowed.
“She says you’ve already met Emily.”
I stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
He turned the screen toward me.
Rebecca had sent one final message through the officer at the facility.
It contained a single sentence.
AARON KNOWS HER AS REBECCA HALE.
I stopped breathing.
Rebecca Hale.
My attorney.
The woman I had called that morning.
The woman who knew every detail of the case.
The woman who told me to preserve the security footage.
The woman who had been guiding me from the beginning.
My mother whispered, “Who is Rebecca Hale?”
I could barely answer.
“My lawyer.”
And suddenly my phone rang.
Her name was on the screen.
REBECCA HALE.
Everyone stared at it.
Owens said, “Don’t answer.”
But before I could move, the call ended.
Then a message appeared.
AARON, DO NOT TRUST THE POLICE.
COME ALONE.
I KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR MOTHER.
And underneath it was an address.
CONTINUE READ NEXT PART… 👇
