Chapter 2 - TWO BABIES, ONE MISSING MATCH
The maternity unit became quiet in the unnatural way hospitals do during emergencies.
Doors locked electronically.
Security guards took positions at elevators and stairwells.
Staff accounted for every newborn.
No one announced an abduction code over speakers.
The hospital used a secure internal alert system to avoid panic.
Camille stayed in my room.
The baby remained in the bassinet several feet away.
I could hear her tiny breaths.
I wanted to pick her up so badly my arms hurt.
Instead, Camille said:
“We need identification before contact.”
“Is she mine?”
“I don’t know yet.”
I began crying.
Not loudly.
My body had no strength for it.
Luke stood near the wall with two security officers between us.
His expression had regained control.
“You are traumatizing Claire over a scanner malfunction.”
Camille did not answer.
The charge nurse returned with hospital administrator Denise Hall.
Denise explained the process.
At delivery, newborns received matching identification bands and an electronic security tag.
Band numbers were documented.
Electronic tag events were logged.
Transfers between nursery areas generated records.
A removed band did not automatically mean a swap.
Bands sometimes loosened.
Tags could malfunction.
But this one recorded a tamper alert at 2:17 p.m.
I looked at the clock.
4:06.
“Where was June at 2:17?”
Denise checked a tablet.
“According to routine charting, with you.”
“She wasn’t.”
Everyone looked at me.
“I was vomiting. They took her out.”
Camille asked:
“Who took her?”
“I don’t remember the name.”
Luke said quickly:
“Marissa.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Nurse Marissa.”
Camille frowned.
“There is no Marissa assigned to postpartum today.”
Luke’s jaw tightened.
“Maybe that wasn’t her name.”
Eli whispered:
“That’s the lady.”
My heart pounded.
“What?”
“The lady Dad was with.”
Denise immediately asked:
“Can you describe her uniform?”
Eli said:
“Blue shirt. Gray sweater thing. She had a badge.”
“What color badge?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did it have a picture?”
“Yes.”
“Did she have anything on her head?”
“No.”
“Gloves?”
“I think.”
They did not press him further.
Children can fill gaps when questioned repeatedly.
A pediatric social worker named Hannah Pierce arrived to speak with him separately.
I wanted to go.
My incision made even sitting upright difficult.
Eli said:
“I want Mom.”
They allowed him to remain beside my bed while Hannah asked only broad questions.
Luke was moved outside under security supervision.
Before leaving, he looked at me.
“Claire, please don’t let this get out of control.”
I stared.
“You slapped our son.”
“He accused me of stealing a baby.”
“Did you?”
His face hardened.
“No.”
The door closed behind him.
For the first time since marriage, I heard his denial without automatically wanting it to be true.
Camille collected my cheek swab.
The newborn’s cheek swab.
Samples were sealed for expedited genetic comparison.
Blood types and newborn screening records could provide clues, but DNA would be more definitive.
“Will it take days?”
“The hospital can arrange rapid testing. Not instant.”
“How long?”
“Likely hours for an initial comparison through an accredited lab, longer for full documentation.”
Hours.
I looked at the baby.
Her hair appeared darker than I remembered.
Newborn appearances change quickly.
Fluid.
Lighting.
Swelling.
My brain could manufacture differences because I was frightened.
So I stopped looking for resemblance.
Evidence.
Not instinct.
The electronic records team returned with another finding.
June’s security tag had been assigned correctly at birth.
At 2:13 p.m., it entered a restricted service corridor.
At 2:17, tamper alert.
At 2:19, tag signal disappeared.
At 2:32, the same tag reappeared near room 618.
Mine.
Thirteen minutes missing.
“What about the baby in the nursery?”
Denise said:
“We are tracing every bassinet.”
One newborn record had an unusual transfer at approximately the same time.
Baby Girl Patterson.
Born that morning.
The mother, Natalie Patterson, had been discharged unexpectedly against medical advice at 3:01 p.m.
With a baby.
Security was trying to contact her.
I said:
“Was that woman brown-haired?”
Denise did not answer.
They were not going to build identity from hair color.
Good.
Then a security officer entered carrying a clear evidence bag.
Inside was a tiny plastic ankle band.
Open.
He said:
“We found this in the service corridor.”
Camille read the number.
Her face changed.
May you like
It did not belong to the baby in my room.
It belonged to June Mercer.
