Willie stepped behind me.
I stood.
“Everything.”
Robert’s expression hardened.
“You need to stop this.”
“Stop what?”
“Grieving isn’t making you think clearly.”
I walked toward him.
“Where is my daughter?”
He said nothing.
“Where is she?”
“She died.”
“Then why did the hospital tell me she was transferred?”
His face went pale.
For the first time since our daughter’s birth, I saw fear in my husband’s eyes.
Then he whispered:
“You weren’t supposed to find out.”
I felt my knees weaken.
“Find out what?”
He looked at Willie.
Then back at me.
“Your sister-in-law wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.”
“She didn’t.”
I stepped closer.
“Willie saw you.”
Robert closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he looked completely different.
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
He swallowed.
“From the truth.”
I shook my head.
“No. You were protecting yourself.”
He didn’t answer.
I reached for my phone.
“I’m calling the police.”
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because if they find the baby before we do, she could be in danger.”
My blood ran cold.
“You said she was dead.”
Robert looked at me.
And finally admitted the words I had been terrified to hear.
“She wasn’t dead.”
I couldn’t speak.
Robert continued in a broken voice.
“She was born alive.”
I covered my mouth.
“Then where is she?”
He looked toward the floor.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“I swear.”
“Then who took her?”
He hesitated.
And that’s when Willie suddenly whispered:
“Mom…”
We both turned.
He was holding the jar of money.
Inside was a folded photograph.
“I found this in Dad’s desk.”
I opened it.
It showed a newborn baby wrapped in a pale yellow blanket.
On the back was a handwritten note:
“Payment received. Transfer complete.”
And beneath it was a name.
Linda Harris.
Robert stared at the photograph.
Then he whispered:
“She’s alive.”
I looked at my husband.
“Then we’re going to find her.”
And for the first time since giving birth, I wasn’t crying.
I was angry.
Because somewhere in the world, my baby girl was alive.
And someone had decided that her mother didn’t deserve to know.
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