Chapter 4: The Baby They Told Me I Had Lost
I read the anonymous message seven times.
If you want to know why Patricia has been controlling your marriage for eight years, ask Daniel what happened to the baby you lost.
My hands went numb.
Four years earlier, I'd been pregnant.
At least, that's what I had believed.
Daniel and I had been married for four years when I discovered the pregnancy. I remembered standing in our bathroom, staring at two pink lines on a little white stick.
I'd cried so hard that Daniel rushed upstairs, thinking something terrible had happened.
When I showed him the test, he lifted me off the floor and kissed my forehead.
"We're going to be parents, Sarah.""
For eleven weeks, I was the happiest woman alive.
Then one evening, I experienced severe abdominal pain.
Daniel drove me to St. Catherine's Women's Medical Center. I remembered the fluorescent lights, the cold examination room, and a nurse asking me to wait while the doctor reviewed my results.
Dr. Evelyn Brooks eventually entered.
She sat beside my bed.
"Sarah, I'm very sorry.""
I remembered Daniel gripping my hand.
The doctor explained that my pregnancy had ended. She told me there had been complications and that further testing was necessary.
I was devastated.
Daniel held me while I cried.
For months afterward, he insisted I shouldn't blame myself.
But something about the anonymous message made my stomach twist.
I looked at Robert.
"Can you verify whether I actually miscarried?""
He carefully closed the birth registration.
"We'll need your complete medical records.""
"Then get them.""
"Sarah, I need you to understand something. The document suggests there may have been an arrangement involving Patricia, Daniel, and Vanessa. But we don't yet know whether it has anything to do with your pregnancy.""
I stood.
"I'm going to the hospital.""
Robert frowned.
"Don't confront anyone until we have the records.""
"I spent four years believing my body had betrayed me. If someone took my child, I'm not waiting another hour.""
He handed me his business card.
"Call me before signing anything.""
I drove to St. Catherine's.
The hospital smelled of disinfectant and burnt coffee. I approached the records department and explained that I needed information concerning my previous pregnancy.
The receptionist searched my name.
Then her expression changed.
"Mrs. Mitchell, I'm afraid some of these records are restricted.""
"Restricted by whom?""
She typed something else.
"There's an authorization attached to your file.""
"Whose authorization?""
She hesitated.
"Your husband, Daniel Mitchell.""
I stared at her.
"My husband doesn't have permission to restrict my medical records.""
"According to our system, he was listed as your authorized representative.""
I leaned closer.
"Please tell me who approved that.""
She turned the monitor slightly.
A digital signature appeared.
Sarah Mitchell.
But beneath it was an authorization date I didn't recognize.
I felt sick.
"Can I speak with the doctor who treated me?""
The receptionist checked the system.
"Dr. Brooks is no longer at this facility. However, another physician reviewed your case.""
"Who?""
"Dr. Martin Hayes.""
I was escorted to a consultation room.
Twenty minutes later, a middle-aged man entered carrying a tablet.
"Mrs. Mitchell? I'm Dr. Hayes.""
I explained what I had discovered.
He listened carefully, then examined the documents I'd brought.
When I showed him the birth registration, his expression became serious.
"Where did you obtain this?""
"From an accountant investigating financial transfers.""
He studied the document.
"I can't confirm anything based on this alone.""
"Then check my medical records.""
He opened my file.
His eyes moved across the screen.
Then he stopped.
"Mrs. Mitchell, may I ask you something?""
"Of course.""
"After your eleventh week of pregnancy, did you undergo a procedure at this hospital?""
"No. I was told I'd miscarried.""
He looked at the screen again.
"That's not what this record says.""
My heart began pounding.
"What does it say?""
He turned the tablet toward me.
There was an entry dated four years earlier.
*Pregnancy transferred under emergency gestational arrangement. Patient consent documented.*
I couldn't understand the words.
"Transferred?""
Dr. Hayes lowered his voice.
"According to this entry, your pregnancy continued under a separate gestational arrangement.""
I gripped the edge of the desk.
"Are you telling me my baby survived?""
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he opened another section.
"There's a note indicating that the arrangement was authorized by a family representative.""
"Who?""
He scrolled.
Then he stopped.
The name appeared on the screen.
Patricia Mitchell.
I covered my mouth.
Dr. Hayes continued reading.
"There's also a second note. It says the patient was not to be informed of the transfer until the legal guardianship arrangement was finalized.""
I stood so quickly that my chair fell backward.
"Who made that decision?""
"I don't know. These records require a formal investigation.""
I began crying.
Not the quiet tears I'd shed at the restaurant.
These were tears that came from somewhere deep inside me.
For four years, I'd believed I had lost my baby.
I'd blamed myself.
I'd avoided baby showers, birthday parties, and conversations about motherhood.
Meanwhile, someone had apparently been raising a child whose existence I had been denied.
My phone rang.
Daniel.
I answered.
"What did you do to my baby?""
Silence.
Then he whispered, "Sarah, where are you?""
"At St. Catherine's. I know about the transfer.""
His breathing changed.
"Listen to me. You don't understand what happened.""
"Did my baby survive?""
He didn't answer.
"Daniel!""
Finally, he whispered four words.
"Yes. Our baby survived.""
I nearly dropped the phone.
May you like
Then he said something worse.
"Mom has been raising him.""
