No one spoke for several seconds.
The image of the infant footprints sat on Claire’s phone between us like physical evidence placed on an interrogation table. Two tiny inked feet. Two identification numbers. One date.
March 14, 1995.
Claire touched the screen with one finger.
“Send me the full image.”
I forwarded it.
Marlene leaned closer.
“I’ve never seen this.”
Daniel looked over her shoulder.
“What hospital?”
Claire enlarged the corner.
“St. Vincent’s.”
Marlene nodded.
“That’s where Rebecca delivered.”
“Were you there?”
“Afterward.”
“How long afterward?”
“Two hours, maybe three.”
“Did you see me?”
“Yes.”
“One baby.”
“Yes.”
“Where was Rebecca?”
“Recovery.”
“Was she awake?”
“Barely.”
Claire looked at Daniel.
“And you?”
“I came later.”
“How much later?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Try.”
“Maybe that evening.”
Marlene turned sharply.
“No.”
Daniel looked at her.
“You came the next morning.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You did.”
“How would you remember?”
“Because Rebecca asked where you were.”
The air changed again.
Daniel stared at her.
“She asked for me?”
“Yes.”
“You never told me that.”
“You were already angry with her.”
“For what?”
Marlene looked at Claire.
“For refusing to name the father.”
Claire stood carefully.
“So let me understand this.”
She began pacing only two steps at a time, one hand against the table when the incision pulled.
“My mother gave birth to two girls.”
“Yes,” Marlene said.
“She was told one died.”
“Yes.”
“No one in this room saw the dead baby.”
Marlene looked down.
“No.”
“The hospital later issued records showing only one child.”
“Apparently.”
“And somebody has now sent us proof that there were two.”
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
“If it’s real.”
Claire turned on him.
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Treating every fact you don’t like as potentially fake.”
“I’m trying to keep you from believing an anonymous stranger.”
“Maybe I trust them because they’ve told me more truth in twenty minutes than you have in thirty-one years.”
Daniel’s face tightened.
My mother whispered, “Claire.”
She looked toward the phone.
“What?”
“I might know something.”
We all went still.
Elaine reached into her handbag and pulled out a small leather wallet.
From behind an old photograph of me, she removed a folded piece of paper.
“You carry that around?” I asked.
“For years.”
“What is it?”
She unfolded it.
“A name.”
Claire moved closer to the phone.
My mother held the paper toward the camera.
The handwriting belonged to my father.
Two words.
Anna Hale.
Marlene made a sound.
“No.”
Claire stared at her.
“You know that name.”
Marlene covered her mouth.
“Anna was what Rebecca planned to name the second baby.”
Silence fell.
Daniel sat down slowly.
“How does Thomas know?”
My mother looked toward him.
“He gave me that paper before he died.”
“What did he say?”
“That if someone ever came looking for Rebecca, I should ask about Anna.”
Claire gripped the back of a chair.
“My sister lived.”
Marlene shook her head.
“We don’t know that.”
“My father—Thomas—knew her name.”
“That proves he knew Rebecca expected twins.”
“No.”
Claire looked at the footprint image.
“It proves somebody kept talking about the second baby after she was supposedly dead.”
Daniel leaned over the table.
“Check the identification numbers.”
“What about them?”
“Hospital newborn IDs usually connected to a maternal chart.”
Marlene looked at him suspiciously.
“How do you know that?”
“I represented a hospital contractor once.”
Claire enlarged the document.
There were two numbers.
The first ended in 114.
The second ended in 115.
“Consecutive,” I said.
“Exactly.”
My mother’s face tightened.
“What would happen to the second record if the baby died?”
Daniel shook his head.
“It wouldn’t disappear. There should still be a birth and death record.”
Claire immediately opened a search browser.
Marlene stopped her.
“Not online.”
“Why?”
“Because if someone erased records once, I don’t want them knowing what we’re searching for.”
The fact that Marlene was now thinking that way frightened me.
I looked at the unknown number.
No new messages.
I typed a reply.
WHO ARE YOU?
Daniel saw.
“I told you not to respond.”
“I heard you.”
“Then why—”
“Because we’re done letting fear dictate everything.”
Claire looked at me through the screen.
For a moment, something softened in her expression.
The reply came less than a minute later.
SOMEONE THOMAS TRUSTED TOO LATE.
I typed again.
ARE YOU ANNA?
No response.
Claire watched the screen.
“Ask how they got the records.”
I did.
The answer came quickly.
PETER.
Marlene sat down hard.
“Peter?”
Claire whispered, “Your brother?”
Marlene nodded.
“Peter died twenty-eight years ago.”
Another message appeared.
PETER KEPT COPIES.
“Where?” Claire asked.
I sent the question.
The answer:
WHERE VICTOR NEVER LOOKED.
Daniel frowned.
“That could mean anything.”
Then another line appeared.
ASK ELAINE ABOUT THE GREEN HOUSE.
My mother stopped breathing.
I turned toward her.
“What green house?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Mom.”
“I haven’t thought about that place in thirty years.”
“What place?”
She sat down.
“When Thomas and I first married, we rented a small house outside Millbrook.”
“What color?”
Her eyes filled.
“Green.”
Claire leaned toward the phone.
“Did Peter know about it?”
“He stayed there once.”
“When?”
“Before you were born.”
“What did he leave?”
“I don’t know.”
Daniel spoke.
“Where is the house?”
My mother looked at him.
“No.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“You think I’m involved.”
“I don’t know what to think.”
Daniel stood.
“You’ve spent the last hour listening to Marlene accuse me of frightening Rebecca and now anonymous messages are directing us toward old evidence. You think I’m going to steal it?”
Marlene looked at him.
“Would you?”
The question wounded him.
He did not answer.
Claire intervened.
“No one goes anywhere today.”
I looked at her.
“I can.”
“No.”
“Claire—”
“You have Luca.”
“My mother can stay with him.”
Elaine shook her head.
“Absolutely not.”
Claire almost laughed.
“Glad we agree on something.”
I understood.
This was exactly the kind of moment when I would once have treated action as proof of responsibility.
Drive to the house.
Find the evidence.
Solve the mystery.
Meanwhile Claire was recovering and Luca needed stability.
“Okay,” I said.
Everyone looked surprised.
“I’m staying here.”
Claire nodded.
“Tomorrow we decide together.”
Daniel picked up his keys.
“I’m going home.”
“You are home,” Marlene said.
He looked around as if only then remembering.
“I need air.”
“Where are you going?”
“Drive.”
Claire stepped between him and the doorway.
“No.”
Daniel stared at her.
“Move.”
“You don’t get to disappear right now.”
“I’m not disappearing.”
“You have before.”
The sentence surprised him.
“Rebecca,” Claire said.
Daniel’s face hardened.
“You disappeared from her life whenever she needed answers, didn’t you?”
“You don’t know what happened.”
“Then tell me.”
He looked toward Marlene.
She said nothing.
Finally, Daniel sat back down.
“Rebecca and I met when we were twenty-two.”
His voice had lost its anger.
“She was fearless. Smarter than me. Smarter than almost everybody.”
Claire lowered herself into a chair.
Daniel continued.
“We were together on and off for five years. I wanted to marry her. She refused.”
“Why?”
“Because she didn’t trust me.”
“That seems important.”
“It was.”
He looked at his hands.
“I had debts. Gambling.”
Marlene closed her eyes.
Claire stared.
“You gambled?”
“Back then.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“Victor helped you.”
Daniel looked up sharply.
I felt the answer before he spoke.
“Yes.”
There it was.
The favor.
The debt.
“Victor paid what you owed,” I said.
“Yes.”
“In exchange for what?”
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
“At first, nothing.”
“There’s always something.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“He wanted information.”
“About Rebecca’s family?”
“About Peter.”
Marlene whispered, “You told him.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
She slapped him.
The sound cracked through the phone.
Daniel did not move.
Marlene stood over him.
“My brother died because of you.”
“No.”
“You gave Victor Peter’s records.”
“I gave him an address.”
“Where Peter was staying?”
“Yes.”
Marlene stumbled backward.
Claire caught her before she fell.
Daniel covered his face.
“I didn’t know what Victor would do.”
“What did you think he wanted?”
“To scare him.”
Marlene laughed through tears.
“And Peter died in a house fire.”
“I know.”
“You knew all these years.”
“I suspected.”
“You married me.”
“I loved you.”
“Don’t.”
Her voice broke.
“Do not use that word.”
Claire guided Marlene into the chair.
Then she looked at Daniel.
“Did Rebecca know?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before you were born.”
“That’s why she left you.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did she come back?”
Daniel looked at Claire.
“Because of you.”
“What does that mean?”
“She thought I might be your father.”
Claire went pale.
“And the twin?”
Daniel shook his head.
“I swear I never knew.”
“Was there another man?”
“Yes.”
Marlene stared.
“You never told me.”
“I didn’t know his name.”
Claire leaned closer.
“What did you know?”
“Rebecca said there was someone else around the time you were conceived.”
“Who?”
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
“Why?”
“She said if Victor ever learned who he was, all of us would be in danger.”
My mother whispered, “Thomas?”
Daniel shook his head.
“No. Not Thomas.”
The mystery shifted again.
I looked at the message thread.
A new photograph appeared.
Not a document.
A woman.
Around thirty.
Dark hair.
Standing beside a lake.
She looked so much like Claire that for one disorienting instant I thought it was an old photograph of my wife.
Claire saw it.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
Beneath the photograph were two words.
ANNA HALE.
Alive.
The image appeared recent.
There was a digital timestamp in the corner.
September 12, 2026.
One week ago.
Claire began crying.
“My sister.”
Then another message arrived.
SHE HAS BEEN LOOKING FOR YOU TOO.
And immediately after:
DO NOT TELL DANIEL WHERE SHE IS.
Everyone looked at Daniel.
His face had gone completely white.
Click here to continue reading: PART 9: Daniel’s Face Told Us the Photograph Was Real, but His First Question Suggested Anna Had More Than One Reason to Hide
Four Hours After Surgery, One Ordinary Question Made My Wife Look at Me Like a Stranger
Part 8 of 28
