Chapter 4: The Night Brooke Was Born
“What happened the night Brooke was born?””
Claire stared at me across the kitchen.
For once, she had nowhere left to run.
Maya stood beside me, gripping her phone.
Evan had gone completely still.
Claire glanced toward the staircase.
“Brooke can’t hear this.””
“Then start talking quietly.””
“Daniel—”
“No.””
I lowered my voice.
“You emptied our daughter’s college fund. You sent thirty-nine thousand dollars to someone using your dead sister’s name. And now you’re telling me it has something to do with Brooke’s birth.””
Claire covered her face.
Evan spoke first.
“I thought Rebecca died in Baltimore.””
“She did,” Claire whispered.
“Then who controls her account?””
Claire looked at him.
“Someone who knows what Rebecca did.””
My stomach tightened.
“What did she do?””
Claire pulled out a chair.
Her hands trembled as she sat.
“Sixteen years ago, Rebecca called me at two in the morning.””
Claire’s voice became distant.
“She was terrified. She told me she was pregnant.””
Maya frowned.
“But Brooke was born sixteen years ago.””
Claire’s eyes filled with tears.
I understood before Maya did.
“No,” I whispered.
Claire nodded once.
“Brooke wasn’t the baby I gave birth to.””
The kitchen disappeared around me.
“What?””
Maya whispered, “Mom…”
“I was pregnant too,” Claire said quickly.
“You remember that, Daniel.””
Of course I remembered.
The nursery.
The ultrasound pictures.
Claire complaining that our baby kicked whenever I played old rock songs.
Then the emergency delivery.
I had been traveling for work when Claire went into labor three weeks early.
By the time I reached the hospital, Brooke was already in Claire’s arms.
“You told me there were complications.””
“There were.””
“What happened to our baby?””
Claire broke.
“She didn’t survive.””
I grabbed the counter.
Maya gasped.
“No.””
Claire sobbed into her hands.
“Our daughter was born without a heartbeat.””
I remembered walking into that hospital room.
Claire exhausted.
A newborn sleeping against her chest.
Brooke.
My Brooke.
I stared at my wife.
“Whose baby did I hold?””
“Rebecca’s.””
The words landed like concrete.
Maya backed away.
“Oh my God.””
Claire reached toward her.
“Maya—”
“Don’t touch me.””
Claire stopped.
Evan whispered, “You actually did it.””
I turned toward him.
“You knew?””
“I knew Rebecca was pregnant. Claire called me after she lost her baby. She said Rebecca wanted to give hers up.””
“You knew Brooke wasn’t mine?””
“No. Claire disappeared after that.””
Claire wiped her face.
“Rebecca didn’t want the baby. She was using again. She said the child would end up in foster care.””
“So you took her?””
“I saved her.””
“You lied to me!””
My voice shook the room.
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
We all went silent.
Claire whispered, “I had just lost our daughter. You were still driving to the hospital. Rebecca arrived with her newborn and said she couldn’t keep her.””
“How did you explain this to the hospital?””
“I didn’t.””
My stomach turned.
“What does that mean?””
“Rebecca gave birth somewhere else. Evan helped her get medical attention afterward.””
Evan shook his head.
“I drove her to a clinic. I never knew what Claire did next.””
Claire looked at me.
“A nurse I knew helped me leave through a side entrance. Rebecca gave me the baby.””
I felt sick.
“So Brooke’s birth certificate—”
“Lists us.””
“How?””
Claire didn’t answer.
That answer frightened me.
Maya suddenly asked, “Why pay someone now?””
Claire looked at her.
“Because two months ago, I received an envelope.””
She stood and walked toward a cabinet.
From behind a stack of cookbooks, she removed a plain white envelope.
Inside was a photocopy of a hospital bracelet.
REBECCA BENNETT.
And underneath it, handwritten:
$50,000 OR YOUR FAMILY LEARNS WHERE BROOKE CAME FROM.
My mouth went dry.
“Fifty thousand?””
Claire nodded.
“I panicked.””
“You stole from Maya.””
“I thought I could replace it.””
“With what?””
“I don’t know!””
Maya laughed bitterly.
“You sacrificed my future to protect your lie.””
“I was protecting Brooke!””
“No. You were protecting yourself.””
Claire recoiled.
Evan examined the envelope.
“There’s no return address.””
“They contacted me through messages.””
“Show us.””
Claire hesitated.
Then handed over her phone.
I opened the thread.
The sender had used an unknown number.
Most messages were short.
PAYMENT ONE RECEIVED.
DON’T CONTACT POLICE.
Then the newest message.
FINAL PAYMENT RECEIVED.
I almost felt relief.
Until Maya pointed lower.
“Dad.””
Another message had arrived ten minutes earlier.
I opened it.
My heart stopped.
YOU PAID FOR SILENCE, CLAIRE.
NOT THE TRUTH.
CHECK YOUR MAILBOX.
I ran outside.
The mailbox stood at the end of our driveway.
Inside was another envelope.
I tore it open.
A photograph slipped into my hand.
It showed Rebecca holding a newborn.
Beside her stood a younger Claire.
And another woman wearing hospital scrubs.
May you like
On the back were six words:
ASK CLAIRE WHICH BABY ACTUALLY DIED.
