Chapter 6
I did not sleep.
Neither did Nia.
At six in the morning, I drove us to Mercy Hospital in silence.
Jacob followed in his car.
The baby slept in the back seat.
Nia sat beside me, pale and hollow-eyed, twisting a blanket in her lap.
Every few minutes, she looked back at him.
As if he might vanish.
As if biology had become a thief riding with us.
Dr. Patel met us in a private consultation room.
Ms. Palmer, the social worker, was there too.
That scared me.
Doctors give results.
Social workers handle disasters.
I held the baby carrier because Nia’s hands were shaking too badly.
The baby opened his eyes.
Dark brown.
Beautiful.
Trusting.
Dr. Patel folded her hands.
“We repeated the initial screening overnight because the first result was unexpected.”
Nia whispered, “Just say it.”
Dr. Patel looked at each of us.
“Based on the samples provided, Mr. Brooks is not the biological father.”
The room tilted.
Nia made a small wounded sound.
Jacob inhaled sharply.
Dr. Patel continued.
“And Mr. Ellis is not the biological father either.”
Silence.
Then Jacob said, “What?”
I stared at the doctor.
“That’s impossible.”
Nia stood too fast.
“No. No, that’s not right.”
Ms. Palmer rose gently.
“Nia, sit down.”
“No.” Nia grabbed the edge of the table. “That is my baby.”
Dr. Patel’s voice softened.
“We are not questioning that you delivered a baby. But the child tested does not appear genetically related to you either.”
The words did not make sense.
They entered the room and floated there, cruel and unreal.
Nia looked at the carrier.
Then at me.
Then she screamed.
Not loudly.
Worse.
A broken sound that seemed to tear out of her body.
“That is my baby.”
Ms. Palmer reached for her.
Nia pulled away.
“I held him. I fed him. He was on my chest.”
I looked down at the child in the carrier.
Not mine.
Not Jacob’s.
Not Nia’s.
Then whose?
My heart pounded.
“Was there a switch?”
Dr. Patel looked grim.
“That is one possibility we must investigate immediately.”
Nia nearly collapsed.
I caught her.
For one second, she clung to me like nothing had broken between us.
And I held her.
Because whatever she had done, whatever lies had led us here, no mother deserved that sentence.
Dr. Patel picked up the phone.
Within minutes, hospital administrators entered.
Then security.
Then a woman from risk management.
Too many suits.
Too many careful voices.
They asked us to remain calm.
I laughed at that.
“Her baby may be missing, and you want calm?”
The risk manager flinched.
“We are reviewing nursery logs.”
“Review faster.”
Nia looked at the baby in the carrier and began sobbing.
“What about him?”
That stopped me.
Because in the horror of searching for our child, I had forgotten the child in front of us was also someone’s baby.
Someone else’s son.
Someone else’s missing piece.
Ms. Palmer crouched beside Nia.
“We will keep him safe too.”
Nia whispered, “I loved him.”
I closed my eyes.
So had I.
Even in doubt.
Even in anger.
I had loved him.
Dr. Patel returned an hour later with a list.
Four baby boys born within the same six-hour window.
Two discharged.
One in NICU.
One still on the maternity floor.
Nia grabbed my hand.
“Find mine.”
“We are testing now.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
Hospital security escorted us to a waiting room away from the nursery.
Jacob stayed near the door, silent and pale.
For once, his presence did not anger me.
He looked as shaken as we were.
Nia sat beside me.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I stared ahead.
“Not now.”
“I need to say it.”
“Not now, Nia.”
“Our baby is missing because I was too busy hiding from the truth.”
I turned to her.
“Our baby is missing because a hospital made a mistake.”
“But if I hadn’t named him Jacob, if I hadn’t lied, if we had just been happy, maybe we would have noticed sooner.”
I looked at the baby in the carrier.
He slept peacefully.
The wrong child.
But not wrong.
Never wrong.
I said quietly, “Then we use the mess to find the truth.”
She covered her mouth.
Two hours later, Dr. Patel came back.
Her face told us before her mouth did.
“We found a likely match.”
Nia stood.
“Where?”
Dr. Patel swallowed.
“One of the discharged babies.”
My heart dropped.
“Discharged to who?”
She checked the folder.
“A couple named Aaron and Melissa Grant.”
Nia whispered, “Call them.”
Dr. Patel looked at the risk manager.
The risk manager looked away.
“What?” I asked.
May you like
Dr. Patel’s voice lowered.
“We tried. Their number is disconnected.”
