I stared at the paper.
“Suitable for what?”
Torres took a breath.
“We searched Dr. Andrew Lyle’s private office. He disappeared forty minutes ago.”
“What did you find?”
“A concealed cabinet containing patient records. Yours was one of them.”
“And Elise?”
Torres nodded.
“Hers too.”
She handed Daniel the first document.
He read it.
Then went completely still.
“No.”
I stood.
“What?”
He couldn’t answer.
I took the paper.
It was Elise Whitmore’s delivery record.
INFANT MALE DELIVERED: 4:01 AM.
NO SPONTANEOUS RESPIRATION.
RESUSCITATION UNSUCCESSFUL.
TIME OF DEATH: 4:18 AM.
Daniel staggered backward.
“That’s impossible.”
Torres spoke carefully.
“The record indicates that Elise’s biological child was stillborn.”
Daniel shook his head.
“But I held Noah.”
“When?”
“Hours later. Elise was hemorrhaging. Someone told me the baby was being stabilized in neonatal care.”
Torres turned toward me.
“Nora, your file contains something very different.”
I already knew.
But I made her say it.
“What?”
“Your son was born healthy.”
The room seemed to disappear.
“APGAR scores eight and nine. Normal oxygen levels. Stable heart rate.”
“No.”
“There’s no medical documentation showing Samuel died.”
My hands started shaking.
“There is documentation showing he was transferred.”
I gripped the table.
“Where?”
Torres looked at Daniel.
Then at me.
“Neonatal isolation room seventeen.”
Daniel whispered, “That’s where they kept Noah.”
I looked toward the crib.
And suddenly the terrible possibility had a shape.
A name.
A room number.
Someone had taken my living son from my arms.
And placed him in another mother’s hospital room.
