Chapter 4: Page Seven
I should have listened to the warning.
Instead, I turned the page.
The photograph slid halfway out of the envelope and landed on my lap.
For several seconds, I couldn't make sense of what I was seeing.
It was an old hospital nursery.
The picture had been taken from behind a glass window, probably in the late 1980s. Four rows of bassinets stood beneath fluorescent lights. Nurses moved between them, their uniforms stark white against the grainy black-and-white image.
At the bottom corner, someone had written a date.
October 14, 1989.
My birthday.
My pulse began hammering.
I turned the photograph over.
There was handwriting on the back.
Mom's.
*Two babies. One mistake. One family destroyed.*
I looked at Priya.
“What mistake?””
She didn't answer.
“Priya.””
“I don't know.””
“You've read this.””
“I've seen the documents your mother gave me. I haven't interpreted them for you.””
“That's not an answer.””
She glanced toward the operating-room doors.
“Your mother wanted you to discover this yourself.””
I looked back at the photograph.
Two bassinets were circled in red ink.
One said *BABY M*.
The other said *BABY R*.
Underneath them was a handwritten note.
*They were switched before discharge.*
My mouth went dry.
“No.””
Priya said nothing.
“No,” I repeated.
I stood so quickly that the chair beside me scraped the floor.
“If you're telling me I was switched with another baby—”
“I'm not telling you anything yet.””
“Then what am I supposed to believe?””
“That your mother believed something happened.””
“Who was the other baby?””
Priya took a breath.
“That's where Natalie comes in.””
I stared at her.
“Why?””
“Because the second child was not raised by the woman listed as his biological mother.””
My hands tightened.
“Who raised him?””
Priya hesitated.
“Daniel and Rebecca Mercer.””
I looked at the photograph again.
My father's name.
My mother's name.
Two babies.
One mistake.
A family destroyed.
I whispered, “Then who raised the other child?””
Priya didn't answer.
I already knew.
“Someone raised Natalie.””
“Yes.””
“Who?””
“Her mother.””
I shook my head.
“This makes no sense.””
“It gets worse.””
I laughed once, but there was nothing funny about it.
“Of course it does.””
Priya reached into her briefcase and pulled out another folder.
“Your mother spent the last eleven months reconstructing the records.””
“Why?””
“She received a letter.””
“From whom?””
“A woman named Margaret Hale.””
The name meant nothing to me.
“Who is she?””
“She claimed to be Natalie's biological grandmother.””
My stomach tightened.
“What?””
“Margaret said her daughter gave birth to a baby boy in 1989.””
“A boy?””
“Yes.””
“Then Natalie…”
“Was supposedly the daughter she raised.””
I stared at the folder.
“So my wife isn't connected to my mother because of adoption.””
Priya shook her head.
“Not exactly.””
“Then what is this?””
“A possible hospital identity switch.””
I looked down at the photograph.
“Possible?””
“Your mother never found enough evidence to call it proven.””
“Then why was she so afraid?””
“Because the evidence she did find pointed toward someone deliberately hiding the mistake.””
My phone buzzed again.
Natalie.
I opened the message.
*Please come home. We need to talk before you destroy everything.*
I showed Priya.
She read it.
“Did you tell her you were here?””
“No.””
“Then she knows.””
I stared at the message.
“How?””
Priya's expression darkened.
“That is the question.””
A nurse approached us.
“Mr. Mercer?””
I turned.
“Yes?””
“Your mother's surgery is still ongoing.””
“Is she stable?””
“The surgeon will speak with you when they have an update.””
I nodded.
The nurse left.
I looked at Priya.
“I need to know everything.””
“Not here.””
“Why?””
“Because your wife is not the only person who may be watching.””
The sentence sent a chill through me.
“What does that mean?””
Priya closed the folder.
“It means your mother was frightened for a reason.””
I sat back down.
“What happened to my father?””
Priya's eyes softened.
“That is in the next section.””
I opened the folder.
There was a police report dated November 1989.
Daniel Mercer had reported that someone had followed him from work.
Three days later, he disappeared.
The official conclusion had been voluntary abandonment.
I read the final line twice.
*No evidence of foul play.*
But underneath the typed sentence was Mom's handwriting.
*They lied.*
I turned the page.
A second report.
Daniel had left behind a note.
Three words.
*Find the boy.*
I looked at Priya.
“What boy?””
She didn't respond.
I turned another page.
There was a photocopy of a handwritten ledger from the hospital.
Two infant identification numbers.
One had been crossed out.
Beside it was a new number.
Then, in red ink:
*MERCER / HALE*
I stared.
“Hale.””
Priya nodded.
“Margaret Hale.””
My mind raced.
“Why would the hospital put Hale beside my father's name?””
“I don't know.””
I turned another page.
A photograph fell out.
This one was in color.
It showed two toddlers standing beside a woman I didn't recognize.
One child had dark hair.
The other had pale blond hair.
At the bottom was a date.
June 1991.
And underneath, someone had written:
*Natalie and Grant.*
I stared at the photograph.
“We met when we were children?””
“No.””
“Then who are these kids?””
Priya looked at me.
“That photograph is why your mother needed the memory test.””
“Why?””
“Because she was preparing for the possibility that someone would call her confused.””
I swallowed.
“Someone like Natalie?””
Priya didn't answer.
I looked again.
The blond child was holding the dark-haired child's hand.
Both were smiling.
And suddenly I noticed something on the back.
A hospital bracelet.
The name printed on it was barely visible.
I turned the photograph toward the light.
There were only four letters I could read.
*NATE.*
I felt my stomach drop.
“Natalie was named after a boy?””
“Perhaps.””
“That's impossible.””
Priya leaned closer.
“Grant.””
“What?””
“Look at the child's left wrist.””
I did.
A small scar.
A curved white line just beneath the thumb.
My breath caught.
I had the same scar.
I'd had it since childhood.
A scar my mother always said came from a broken glass when I was four.
I touched my own wrist.
Then I looked at the photograph again.
The child had it too.
“That's me,” I whispered.
Priya nodded.
“Yes.””
I looked at the other child.
Then at the name.
“Nate.””
My mind began putting pieces together.
One boy.
One girl.
A hospital mistake.
A family that disappeared.
And my wife somehow standing at the center of it.
My phone buzzed.
Another message from Natalie.
*If you open the next envelope, you will find out why I married you.*
I stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
*And you will hate me for it.*
I looked toward the operating-room doors.
My mother was fighting for her life.
My wife was begging me to stop.
And Priya was holding one final folder.
I reached for it.
May you like
The label on the front contained only two words.
*PATERNITY TEST.*
