Chapter 3
Anna and the twins arrived at St. Catherine within minutes of each other.
Dr. Patel remained with Lily while separate teams fought for three lives.
The first infant’s heart rate improved beneath controlled warming.
The second required assisted breathing and medication.
Both had severe hypothermia and dehydration.
Their umbilical cords had been cut but not treated properly.
Neither wore an identification band.
Neither birth had been reported.
Lily sat on a hospital bed while a nurse cleaned her feet.
Blisters covered both soles.
Tiny pieces of gravel were embedded near her heels. Her palms had split where the wheelbarrow handles rubbed through the skin.
Laboratory testing found a sedative in her blood.
Not enough to keep her unconscious.
Enough to explain why she seemed confused and why walking five miles had required almost an entire night.
“Did anyone give you medicine?” Dr. Patel asked.
“Grandma put something in the milk.”
“When?”
“Before the babies came.”
“Did she say what it was?”
“She said it would make us good and quiet.”
“What happened after you drank it?”
“My eyes got heavy.”
“Did Mommy drink it?”
“Grandma made her.”
Lily looked toward the neonatal unit.
“Are Noah and Eli dead?”
The names stopped him.
“Is that what your mommy named them?”
“She whispered it before she went to sleep.”
“They are alive.”
Lily’s face did not brighten immediately.
Children who have survived too much do not always trust relief the first time it is offered.
“Both?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
“I promise they are alive right now. The doctors are helping them breathe and get warm.”
“What about Mommy?”
“She is alive too.”
Lily’s shoulders collapsed.
Maya held her while she cried.
Dr. Patel stepped into the hallway.
He had treated children injured in car crashes, fires, neglect, and violence.
He had never seen a seven-year-old carry three lives into his hospital before breakfast.
Anna was taken into emergency surgery.
She had suffered postpartum hemorrhage that had slowed but not stopped. Retained placental tissue caused infection. Sedatives had suppressed her breathing and ability to seek help.
Another day could have killed her.
Another few hours might have killed the twins.
Lily’s walk had not merely found help.
It had arrived near the final boundary between rescue and recovery of bodies.
Detective Martinez interviewed Lily only long enough to secure immediate facts. A trained forensic interviewer would speak with her later.
A social worker named Naomi Bell located the child’s legal records.
Lily Mercer was seven years old.
Her biological father had never been involved.
Caleb Mercer married Anna when Lily was three and legally adopted her the following year.
Caleb died six months earlier in what police records described as a single-vehicle accident.
Anna was pregnant with twins at the time.
Caleb’s mother, Evelyn Mercer, had assumed a central role after his death.
Lily called her Grandma.
“Where is Evelyn now?” Naomi asked Martinez.
“Her attorney says she’s at the Mercer winter residence in Florida.”
“Has anyone confirmed that?”
“Not yet.”
“Who owns the farmhouse?”
“Mercer Agricultural Holdings.”
“Who controls the company?”
May you like
Martinez looked toward the neonatal doors.
“That may depend on whether those babies were born alive.”
