Chương 10
“You mean they aren’t coming home?”
The attorney spoke carefully.
“They may. But everyone wants to make sure the transition is safe.”
“They’re ours.”
“Yes.”
“Then they come home.”
Daniel touched her knee under the table.
She moved away from him.
The attorney continued.
“The girls have lived in one household almost their entire lives. They’re medically stable, but they’ve experienced an abrupt separation, multiple unfamiliar environments, and intense disruption. A judge will likely prioritize reunification with you while allowing professionals to structure how quickly that happens.”
Claire heard only one thing.
Likely.
That evening she saw Sarah again.
This time Sarah was seated in a conference room with Reed and an attorney.
Claire passed the glass wall and stopped.
Sarah looked up.
For a moment neither moved.
Then Sarah stood.
Claire entered before anyone could stop her.
Sarah’s attorney started speaking.
Claire ignored him.
“Did you know?”
Sarah shook her head.
“No.”
“Did you ever wonder?”
Sarah’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Not at first.”
“How convenient.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Sarah looked down.
Claire stepped closer.
“When did you wonder?”
Sarah twisted a tissue in both hands.
“When they wouldn’t give me court documents.”
“How long ago?”
“Four months.”
Claire felt the answer hit physically.
“Four months.”
“I was told the records were sealed because of domestic violence.”
“And you believed that?”
“I wanted to.”
That stopped Claire.
Sarah’s voice became smaller.
“I had been trying to adopt for three years. Two placements had fallen through. Bright Haven told me the girls’ birth mother needed permanent confidentiality. They said the adoption would finalize after a residency period.”
“You wanted babies.”
“Yes.”
“So you stopped asking.”
“For a while.”
Claire looked at Reed.
He said nothing.
Sarah continued.
“Then they started changing things. Names on insurance records. Doctors. They told me not to use the same pediatrician twice. They brought cash for expenses instead of reimbursement. Vale told me to stop posting pictures even in a private family group.”
“You posted my daughters?”
Sarah closed her eyes.
“One photo.”
Claire’s stomach turned.
“Where?”
“My sister’s private account. I deleted it when they told me.”
“Who saw it?”
“I don’t know.”
Claire wanted to scream.
Instead she said, “Did they call you Mom?”
Sarah began crying.
Quietly.
That was worse.
Claire’s fingernails dug into her palms.
“Did they?”
“Sometimes.”
Claire stepped backward.
Daniel appeared at the doorway.
He had heard.
His face looked hollow.
Sarah said, “I’m sorry.”
Claire laughed once.
“Don’t say that.”
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“Then don’t say anything.”
She left.
That night Emma and Sophie slept in adjoining cribs in a hospital family suite.
Claire and Daniel were allowed to stay.
At 2:08 A.M., Sophie woke screaming.
Claire lifted her before the nurse arrived.
Sophie stiffened.
Then screamed harder.
Claire tried everything.
Rocking.
Whispering.
Walking.
Daniel offered the stuffed elephant.
Sophie pushed it away.
Claire felt panic climbing.
She knew what came next.
Someone would call Sarah.
Someone would prove again that Claire did not know how to comfort her own child.
Daniel stood beside her.
“Try the song.”
Claire stared.
“No.”
“The moon song.”
“I don’t know it.”
“I wrote down the words.”
She looked at him.
“Of course you did.”
“I write things down when I’m scared.”
That was true.
Daniel had made spreadsheets during the pregnancy.
Feeding supplies.
Hospital bags.
Insurance numbers.
Claire used to tease him.
Now he unlocked his phone.
The lyrics were incomplete.
He had typed only what he remembered.
Moon on the water.
Little boat.
Home before morning.
Claire nearly refused.
Then Sophie screamed again.
Claire sang.
Badly.
She missed the melody.
Daniel corrected one line.
She glared at him.
He stopped correcting.
Sophie’s cries gradually became hiccups.
Then breathing.
Then silence.
Her body softened against Claire’s chest.
Claire stood completely still.
Daniel covered his mouth.
This time he did not turn away.
Claire looked down at Sophie.
Her daughter was asleep.
Not because biology had announced itself.
Not because justice had been restored.
Because Claire had learned something from the woman she hated and used it when her child needed her.
That truth was painful.
It was also useful.
Over the next three days, the hospital investigation spread.
Reporters discovered Bright Haven.
Former employees called police.
Families began requesting records.
St. Aurelia suspended multiple administrators.
Its board placed three executives on leave.
Vale’s attorney denied criminal wrongdoing and described the financial transfers as legitimate placement fees related to confidential adoption services.
Claire watched the statement on television and muted it halfway through.
Emma was asleep on Daniel’s chest.
Sophie sat between Claire’s legs pulling tissues from a box one by one.
Claire let her.
There were rules she no longer cared about.
Reed came by that afternoon.
He had a new folder.
Claire eyed it.
“I’m starting to dislike folders.”
“This one may not improve your opinion.”
Inside was a copy of an email Shaw had sent to Vale six months earlier.
She had asked whether the Morgan placement had proper relinquishment documents.
Vale responded that the matter had been “fully resolved at executive level.”
Shaw replied with two words.
Need copies.
None were provided.
Three weeks later, Shaw signed a follow-up medical attestation supporting continued use of the false identities.
Claire read both documents twice.
“She knew.”
Reed nodded.
“She suspected.”
“She knew enough.”
“Yes.”
Daniel asked, “Why show us?”
“Because her attorney is offering cooperation.”
Claire looked up.
“No.”
Reed sat across from her.
“You don’t know the offer.”
“I don’t care.”
“She can identify records, payment structures, personnel, and cases going back years.”
“She lied to my face while my daughters were alive.”
“I know.”
“She signed their deaths.”
“I know.”
“She should go to prison.”
“That remains very possible.”
Claire shoved the folder back.
“Then why does she get anything?”
“Because the question isn’t only what she deserves.”
Claire stood.
“That is exactly the question.”
Reed did not argue.
He waited.
Claire hated waiting more than argument.
May you like
“What?” she demanded.
“There may be other parents.”
