Chapter 6: The Nurse Who Remembered Everything
Patricia Moore agreed to meet us at a small café near the hospital.
She requested that nobody bring Vanessa.
Daniel arranged the meeting for the following morning.
I barely slept.
At 8:30 a.m., Dad knocked on my bedroom door.
“Ready?””
I grabbed my jacket.
He looked at me carefully.
“You don't have to come if you don't want to.””
“I want to.””
He nodded.
We drove in silence.
The café was almost empty when we arrived.
A woman in her late sixties sat near the window.
She wore a grey cardigan and held a leather handbag on her lap.
When she saw Dad, she stood.
“Mr. Walker?””
“Yes. You must be Patricia.””
She nodded.
Then her eyes moved to me.
“And this is Ethan?””
I nodded.
She looked at me for a long moment.
“You have your mother's eyes.””
I swallowed.
“Did you know her?””
Patricia's expression softened.
“I did.””
She gestured toward the chairs.
“Please sit.””
Daniel arrived a few minutes later.
He carried a folder and a small recording device.
Patricia looked uncomfortable when she saw it.
“I don't want to be recorded.””
Daniel put it away.
“Of course.””
She took a breath.
“I've spent fifteen years wondering whether I should have spoken sooner.””
Dad leaned forward.
“Then please speak now.””
Patricia looked at me.
“Your mother gave birth to twins on September 17, 2009.””
I nodded.
“We know that.””
“Both babies were healthy enough to survive.””
Dad gripped the table.
“Then why was one taken?””
Patricia looked down.
“Because someone changed the discharge instructions.””
“Who?””
“Adrian Cole.””
Daniel opened his folder.
“Was he a doctor?””
“No. He was an external consultant working with a private medical placement organization.””
Dad frowned.
“What kind of organization?””
“They arranged private placements for newborns whose parents supposedly couldn't care for them.””
I felt sick.
“Adoptions?””
Patricia shook her head.
“Not legal adoptions. At least, not always.””
Dad's voice became sharper.
“What does that mean?””
“It means babies were sometimes moved between facilities using incomplete paperwork. Families were told their children had died, been transferred, or required specialist care.””
I stared at her.
“Were babies stolen?””
Patricia's eyes filled.
“Yes.””
The word was barely audible.
Daniel leaned forward.
“How many?””
Patricia shook her head.
“I don't know. I only know about the cases I witnessed.””
Dad stood.
“My wife was one of those parents.””
Patricia nodded.
“Rebecca was.””
“Did she know?””
“She suspected.””
“Then why didn't anyone stop it?””
Patricia looked at him.
“Because the people involved had access to the paperwork. They knew which signatures to imitate. They knew which staff members to pressure. And they knew how to make a missing child look like an administrative error.””
I felt my hands shaking.
“What happened to the babies?””
Patricia looked at me.
“Some were eventually found. Others weren't.””
Dad sat down again.
“Where is my wife's other child?””
Patricia hesitated.
“I don't know.””
“Please.””
“I really don't.””
Daniel removed a document from his folder.
“Then perhaps you can explain this.””
He placed the hospital record on the table.
Patricia looked at it.
Her face changed.
“Where did you get this?””
“From Rebecca's storage unit.””
She examined the signature.
Then she shook her head.
“This isn't my copy.””
“What do you mean?”” Dad asked.
“The original record was different.””
“How?””
Patricia looked toward the window.
Then she lowered her voice.
“Both children were listed as transferred to neonatal care. Neither was marked deceased.””
I felt my stomach tighten.
“So someone changed it afterward?””
“Yes.””
Dad pointed at the signature.
“Who signed this?””
Patricia studied it.
“Vanessa Hale.””
Daniel exchanged a look with Dad.
Patricia continued.
“She wasn't employed by the hospital. She was there as Adrian's assistant.””
Dad leaned forward.
“Why was she allowed near the babies?””
“She had authorization from the private organization.””
“From whom?””
Patricia hesitated.
Then she said:
“Rebecca.””
The word hit like a slap.
Dad shook his head.
“No.””
Patricia looked at him.
“Your wife signed an initial consent form.””
“Consent for what?””
“Temporary specialist care.””
Dad's voice became louder.
“She would never have agreed to give away her children.””
“I didn't say she did.””
“Then what are you saying?””
Patricia folded her hands.
“Rebecca was told that one of the babies needed emergency treatment. She signed a form authorizing a temporary transfer to another facility.””
I stared.
“Which baby?””
“The boy.””
Dad's face tightened.
“And the girl?””
Patricia nodded toward me.
“She remained with Rebecca.””
I felt a strange dizziness.
I had always believed I was an only child.
But I wasn't.
I had a twin.
A sister.
Somewhere.
Alive or dead.
I couldn't even begin to imagine it.
“Why didn't Mom tell me?”” I whispered.
Patricia's eyes softened.
“Because she spent years trying to find your brother.””
I looked at her.
“My brother?””
Patricia nodded.
“Rebecca believed the boy had been placed with another family under a false identity. She spent years contacting agencies and solicitors.””
Dad stared.
“Why didn't she tell me?””
“Because she was afraid.””
“Of Vanessa?””
“Of Adrian. And of the people who protected him.””
Daniel opened another folder.
“Did Rebecca ever discover where the boy went?””
Patricia looked down.
“She found a possible address.””
Dad leaned forward.
“Where?””
“Manchester.””
I felt my heart jump.
“Is he there?””
“I don't know.””
Patricia reached into her handbag.
She removed a small photograph.
It showed a newborn baby wrapped in a white blanket.
On the back was a handwritten number.
*B-17.*
I recognized the hospital bracelet.
It was the same kind I'd seen in Mom's photographs.
Patricia slid the photograph across the table.
“Rebecca gave me this before she died.””
Dad picked it up.
“Why?””
“She asked me to keep it safe in case she never found him.””
I looked at the baby's face.
His eyes were closed.
One tiny hand rested against his cheek.
I imagined Mom holding him.
I imagined her going home without him.
I imagined her spending birthdays wondering whether he was warm, safe, loved.
My throat tightened.
“Did she ever meet him again?””
Patricia shook her head.
“No.””
I looked down.
Then Patricia reached into her handbag again.
This time, she removed a folded letter.
“There's something else.””
Dad took it.
The envelope was addressed to Rebecca.
The handwriting was unfamiliar.
Patricia explained.
“This was delivered to the hospital several months after the twins were born. It was addressed to your mother, but she never received it.””
Dad opened it.
Inside was a short letter.
*Rebecca,*
*The boy is alive.*
*He is being raised by a family who believes they adopted him legally.*
*Do not contact them. They have been told you abandoned him.*
*If you want to protect your daughter, stop searching.*
*You have already lost enough.*
There was no signature.
Only a telephone number.
Dad stared at the letter.
“Why did you keep this?””
“Because I didn't trust the people who delivered it.””
“Did you call the number?””
“Yes.””
“What happened?””
Patricia looked down.
“A man answered. He told me to destroy the letter.””
Daniel frowned.
“Did you recognize his voice?””
Patricia nodded.
“Adrian Cole.””
Dad closed his eyes.
I stared at the letter.
“Mom had a daughter too?””
Patricia looked confused.
“I'm sorry?””
I pointed at the words.
If you want to protect your daughter.
Patricia looked at Dad.
Then at me.
Her expression changed.
“Oh.””
Dad's voice became strained.
“Patricia, what is it?””
She took a slow breath.
“The original hospital records identified the children as Baby A and Baby B. Baby A was male. Baby B was female.””
I stared at her.
“I'm a boy.””
Patricia nodded.
“Yes.””
“Then the daughter was—”
She stopped.
Nobody spoke.
Daniel slowly pushed his chair back.
Dad looked at me.
His eyes were full of something I couldn't identify.
Confusion.
Fear.
And a terrible possibility.
“Ethan,” he whispered.
I shook my head.
“No.””
Patricia looked at me gently.
“I'm sorry.””
I stood.
My chair scraped loudly against the floor.
“I'm not the baby who stayed with Mom?””
Dad stood too.
“Ethan, sit down.””
“No. I need to understand.””
Patricia spoke carefully.
“The records we have suggest that the baby who remained with Rebecca was the girl.””
I looked at Dad.
“Then who am I?””
He reached for my arm.
“You're my son.””
“That's not what I asked.””
He couldn't answer.
Daniel took out his phone.
“I need to call Margaret Ellis.””
Patricia nodded.
“There's another person you should contact.””
“Who?””
“A former social worker named Helen Price. She handled the placement files.””
Daniel wrote down the name.
“Where is she?””
“Last I heard, she was living outside Manchester.””
Dad looked at the letter.
Then he asked the question I was too frightened to ask.
“Is Ethan the child Adrian placed with us?””
Patricia shook her head.
“I don't know.””
I stared at the photograph of the newborn.
Then I looked at the old letter.
Something wasn't right.
If Mom had given birth to twins, and one boy had been transferred, why did I have a birth certificate showing her as my mother?
Why did Dad have hospital discharge papers with my name?
Why had Vanessa told me Adrian was my biological father?
And why had Mom written about another child disappearing before I was even born?
I sat down slowly.
“There's something we're missing.””
Daniel nodded.
“I think so.””
Patricia looked at me.
“Ethan, there's one more thing I haven't told you.””
Dad turned toward her.
“What?””
She reached into her handbag and removed a small photograph.
This one was older.
It showed a woman holding a baby outside a residential home.
The woman's face was partially turned away.
But I recognized the black hair.
The emerald blouse.
The unmistakable smile.
Vanessa.
I stared.
“That's her.””
Patricia nodded.
“The photograph was taken three months after the twins were born.””
Dad leaned closer.
“Who is the baby?””
Patricia looked at the back.
There was a handwritten name.
*Rebecca Walker's daughter — temporary placement.*
Dad's face drained of color.
“Vanessa had Rebecca's daughter?””
Patricia nodded.
“For eleven days.””
I looked at the photograph.
“Where did she go afterward?””
Patricia hesitated.
Then she whispered:
“She was returned to the hospital.””
“Why?””
“Because the family who had arranged the placement discovered something.””
“What?””
Patricia looked directly at me.
“They discovered the baby wasn't the child they had been promised.””
The café seemed to tilt.
Dad gripped the table.
“What does that mean?””
Patricia swallowed.
“It means someone switched the twins' identities.””
I felt my blood turn cold.
The little girl Mom had believed was safe might have been sent somewhere else.
And the boy she had spent years searching for might have been living under my name.
Dad looked at me.
Then he whispered:
“Ethan, we need a DNA test.””
My phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number appeared.
*Don't let them test you.*
Another message followed.
*Your father isn't the only person who knows the truth.*
May you like
Then a final message.
*Ask Daniel what happened to the girl who was supposed to come home with you.*
