Chapter 7
The first formal interview took place three weeks after the ballroom confrontation.
By then, Noah had become inseparable from Nia.
Every morning, he ran toward the guest wing to ask whether she wanted breakfast.
Every afternoon, he brought her another drawing.
And every night, he asked us to read him a story together.
Watching them made me happy.
But it also reminded me of what we'd lost.
Nia had missed his first steps.
His first words.
His first birthday.
The day he learned to ride his little blue bicycle.
And I had missed the chance to share those moments with her.
Sometimes, when Noah fell asleep, I found Nia sitting beside his bed with tears in her eyes.
I never asked her to stop crying.
I understood.
The grief didn't disappear simply because we found each other again.
It changed.
It became something we had to carry while building new memories.
That morning, Nia and I met investigators at a downtown office.
Rachel accompanied us.
The investigators had obtained hospital records, financial documents, and statements from former employees.
One former patient-services worker had agreed to speak.
Her name was Tasha Williams.
She was a Black woman in her forties.
When she entered the room, she looked terrified.
I watched her sit across from us.
Then she began crying.
"I'm sorry."
Nia leaned forward.
"Do I know you?"
Tasha nodded.
"I worked at the hospital when your son was born."
My chest tightened.
Nia stared at her.
"Were you there when I woke up?"
Tasha began crying harder.
"Yes."
I felt sick.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Nia asked the question I'd been dreading.
"Did you tell me my baby died?"
Tasha covered her face.
"Yes."
Nia gasped.
I reached for her hand.
Tasha continued.
"I was given paperwork stating that the infant had died."
I looked at her.
"Who gave it to you?"
She hesitated.
"Claire."
My stomach tightened.
"Claire Sterling's attorney?"
Tasha nodded.
"She said the family had arranged a private burial."
Nia began shaking.
"But Noah was alive."
Tasha cried harder.
"I know that now."
I stared at her.
"Did you verify anything?"
She shook her head.
"No."
Anger burned through me.
A mother had been told her child was dead.
And nobody had checked the records.
Tasha looked at Nia.
"I was wrong."
Nia's voice trembled.
"You didn't just make a paperwork mistake."
Tasha lowered her head.
"You made me grieve my living child."
The room became silent.
I watched tears roll down Nia's face.
Then she whispered, "I spent four years thinking I failed him."
Tasha began sobbing.
"I'm sorry."
Nia looked away.
I wanted to comfort her.
But I also knew she needed to speak.
So I remained beside her.
Tasha continued.
"Afterward, I realized the forms weren't consistent with hospital records."
I looked up.
"When?"
"A few months later."
My stomach tightened.
"What did you do?"
"I asked questions."
"And?"
She swallowed.
"Claire told me the family situation was confidential."
I stared at her.
"Then?"
"She said I could lose my job if I continued."
I felt sick.
Tasha wiped her eyes.
"I should have reported it."
"Yes," Nia whispered.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Tasha reached into her bag.
She removed a folder.
"I kept copies of the documents."
My heart pounded.
She placed them on the table.
There were emails.
Administrative requests.
And a record of Claire asking staff not to release information to Nia without contacting her office.
I looked toward Rachel.
Her expression had changed.
The documents were significant.
But we still needed to understand Vanessa's involvement.
Then Tasha turned another page.
"This is the visitor log."
My stomach tightened.
Vanessa's name appeared beside Nia's room number.
The date was the same day Nia had been told Noah died.
I looked at Nia.
Her face had gone pale.
Tasha whispered, "Vanessa was there before you woke up."
I stared at the page.
Then she continued.
"She spoke privately with Claire."
My hands clenched.
"And afterward?"
Tasha looked directly at me.
"Claire instructed me to deliver the death notice."
I felt the room tilt.
I looked at Rachel.
She nodded slowly.
"We'll preserve these records."
After the interview, Nia and I sat in the parking lot.
She was trembling.
I reached for her hand.
"You okay?"
She shook her head.
"No."
I nodded.
"Me neither."
For a long time, we sat quietly.
Then she looked at me.
"Marcus, do you think Noah will ever understand?"
My throat tightened.
"Understand what?"
"Why I wasn't there."
I looked at her.
"He'll know you loved him."
She began crying.
"But will that be enough?"
I took a breath.
"I don't know what questions he'll have as he grows up."
She looked down.
"But we'll answer them honestly."
Nia leaned against me.
I held her.
For the first time, I realized our future couldn't be built only on exposing what happened.
We also needed to learn how to be a family.
Together.
That evening, Noah climbed onto the couch between us.
He held a picture book.
"Mommy, Daddy, read!"
Nia smiled.
I laughed.
We opened the book.
Halfway through, Noah looked up.
"Can I ask something?"
I smiled.
"Anything."
He looked at Nia.
"Why didn't you come when I was little?"
The room became quiet.
Nia's eyes filled.
I gently touched her hand.
She took a breath.
"Because some grown-ups made mistakes and kept us apart."
Noah frowned.
"Did I do something bad?"
Nia immediately pulled him close.
"No, baby. Never."
I nodded.
"You did nothing wrong."
He looked relieved.
Then he asked, "Are we together now?"
I looked at Nia.
She smiled through her tears.
"We're together now, sweetheart."
Noah hugged us both.
And for one beautiful moment, the past didn't matter.
Then my phone vibrated.
Rachel.
I answered.
Her voice sounded urgent.
"Marcus, Claire's attorney has contacted us."
My stomach tightened.
"What does she want?"
Rachel paused.
"Claire is offering to cooperate."
I sat upright.
"Against Vanessa?"
"Possibly."
May you like
Then Rachel said something that changed everything.
"She claims Vanessa was the person who originally planned to separate Nia from Noah."
