Chapter 2 - THREE BABIES, THREE FILES
The triplets had been born at St. Vincent Private Women’s Center.
Lucian first.
Matteo second.
Serafina third.
Two minutes between the boys.
Three more before Serafina.
Elena had been awake during the cesarean.
I was beside her.
Owen was not the delivering physician, but he had coordinated our private pediatric follow-up with the hospital team.
Every infant received two identifiers.
A wrist band.
An ankle band.
The ankle bands were removed at discharge under hospital policy.
The wrist bands remained for the first home pediatric visit because the triplets required staggered weight checks and medication documentation.
Unusual?
Slightly.
Not unsafe when intact.
The barcode was not DNA.
It linked to a hospital record.
That distinction mattered.
Police arrived.
So did hospital security.
Then a detective from the child-abduction unit because newborn identity tampering triggered mandatory escalation.
Nobody said kidnapping.
Not yet.
That word had weight.
We did not use it until evidence supported it.
The babies remained in Elena’s arms or bassinets while a hospital nurse examined the bracelets visually.
Lucian:
Intact seal.
Serafina:
Intact seal.
Matteo:
Seal disturbed.
Barcode sticker:
Correct format.
Wrong assigned patient when scanned.
The nurse covered the scanner display before Dominic could read details.
Good.
He had already seen too much.
The hospital representative said:
“The code belongs to another newborn record.”
Elena’s face changed.
“Another DeLuca baby?”
“No.”
Silence.
“Whose?”
“I cannot disclose another patient’s identity here.”
Correct.
Privacy still existed even during crisis.
Then:
“Is that baby missing?”
“We are checking.”
I wanted to demand names.
Locations.
Every file.
Instead I asked:
“Can you verify whether the code was active?”
“Yes.”
“How quickly?”
“We’re doing it now.”
Then DNA.
Owen insisted on independent chain-of-custody samples for Elena, me, and all three newborns.
No kitchen swabs.
No private family lab that could later be called compromised.
A licensed collection nurse arrived.
Photographs.
Sealed kits.
Witness signatures.
Separate courier.
Results expedited.
Still not instant.
Twenty-four to forty-eight hours.
Elena looked at me.
“That long?”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes.
Then Dominic asked:
“Do I get tested?”
No.
Not necessary.
The issue involved the newborns.
Still, he heard “blood.”
Grandma’s sentence.
Blood decides who belongs.
I saw the fear before he said anything.
“Dominic, go upstairs with Maria.”
Maria was his longtime nanny.
He shook his head.
“I’m staying with Mom.”
I almost ordered him.
Then stopped.
He had watched his grandmother seize his brother.
Sending him away might feel like punishment.
So he sat beside Elena.
Small suit.
Polished shoes.
Hands clasped between his knees.
Bianca had not moved from the far side of the room.
Police asked to speak with her separately.
She nodded.
No resistance.
Vivienne’s lawyer arrived before the first interview ended.
Of course.
My mother told police:
She had opened no hospital bracelet.
Dominic was mistaken.
The band had probably loosened.
Her statement at the table—
“Three heirs is greed. Bianca gets one.”
—was a joke.
Nobody laughed.
Then:
“Why did you lunge toward the baby after the scanner mismatch?”
“I was worried Roman would drop him.”
I almost said something.
My lawyer touched my sleeve.
I stayed silent.
Then my own statement.
I admitted the slap.
Immediately.
No claim that I forgot.
No claim she attacked me.
She moved toward the baby.
I moved the baby away.
Then hit her.
Separate act.
The officer wrote it down.
I would deal with it later.
The bigger question was inside St. Vincent’s identification system.
At 6:42 p.m., the hospital security director called Owen.
The barcode on Matteo’s wrist belonged to a male newborn discharged nine days earlier.
Not a DeLuca.
The boy was reportedly safe with his legal parents.
No missing infant report.
That reduced one fear.
Created another.
If another child still had his correct identity—
May you like
then someone had acquired a duplicate or discarded version of that band.
And deliberately put it on my son.
