Chapter 9: The Mother in the Photograph
My mother had been dead for eleven years.
I knew where she was buried.
I had attended her funeral.
I had held her hand in hospice.
I had watched the color leave her face.
Yet there she was.
Standing beside my newborn daughter.
Alive.
Smiling.
I dropped the phone.
Luke picked it up.
His expression collapsed.
“Claire…”
“Don't.””
He looked at me.
“Your mother?””
“Yes.””
“That's impossible.””
“So is your dead father.””
Rachel took the phone from Luke.
She stared at the photograph.
Then she whispered,
“I know her.””
I looked at her.
“How?””
“She came to the clinic.””
“When?””
“Three months ago.””
My head spun.
“What clinic?””
“The private research center.””
Luke stepped closer.
“What did she call herself?””
Rachel stared at the picture.
“Dr. Mercer.””
My mother's maiden name.
I felt sick.
“My mother was a nurse.””
Rachel shook her head.
“Not anymore.””
The old man suddenly stepped forward.
“Enough.””
A police officer blocked him.
“Stay where you are.””
The old man ignored him.
“Claire, your mother knew what was coming.””
“What was coming?””
“She knew about the trial.””
“What trial?””
“The one your family has been hiding for thirty years.””
I looked at the nurse manager.
“Call the police chief.””
She nodded.
Luke suddenly grabbed my arm.
“Claire, we have to leave.””
I pulled away.
“Why?””
“Because if your mother is alive, then everything I was told was a lie.””
“You mean everything you told me.””
“Yes.””
He looked devastated.
“I thought my father was behind this.””
“He is.””
“No.””
Luke pointed at the photograph.
“Look at the background.””
I zoomed in.
Behind my mother was a wall covered in photographs.
Babies.
Dozens of them.
Each photograph had a number.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Then I saw a seventh photograph.
June.
I enlarged it.
Underneath was a handwritten note.
*Subject 7 — maternal genetic compatibility confirmed.*
My hands went numb.
“What does that mean?””
Luke stared.
“Your mother wasn't looking for a baby.””
“She was looking for a genetic match.””
“For what?””
Rachel whispered,
“Eli.””
I looked at her.
“What?””
“Remember what I told you?””
“About his condition?””
“Yes.””
She pointed to the photograph.
“Your daughter has the same genetic markers.””
I stared at June's tiny face.
“So they wanted her because she could help Eli?””
Rachel nodded.
“They need compatible tissue.””
My throat tightened.
“They're going to hurt my baby.””
“Maybe.””
“Maybe?””
Rachel looked at Luke.
“We don't know.””
Luke stepped forward.
“I know where they are.””
Everyone turned.
“What?””
“The research center.””
The old man laughed.
“You don't.””
Luke looked at him.
“I've been there.””
“When?””
“Last month.””
His father stopped laughing.
Luke continued.
“You sent me there.””
“I sent you to a lawyer.””
“You sent me to the basement.””
The old man's face changed.
“There was a laboratory.””
Luke's voice shook.
“Rows of incubators.””
Rachel covered her mouth.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“I was scared.””
“Of him?””
“Of what I'd become.””
I stared at Luke.
“What did you do there?””
He looked at me.
“I signed something.””
“What?””
“A consent form.””
“For Eli?””
“No.””
His eyes filled with tears.
“For June.””
The room became silent.
“You signed away my daughter.””
“I thought I was saving Eli.””
“You didn't have the right.””
“I know.””
“You don't get to decide which child matters.””
“I know.””
I slapped him.
The sound echoed through the nursery.
Luke didn't move.
He just stood there with tears on his face.
“I know,” he whispered again.
The police officer approached.
“Where is this laboratory?””
Luke gave him an address.
The officer's expression changed.
“That's abandoned.””
“It isn't.””
“How do you know?””
“Because I was there yesterday.””
I stared at him.
“Yesterday?””
Luke nodded.
“I went back.””
“Why?””
“To find June.””
“And?””
“I found her.””
My heart stopped.
“Where?””
“Sixth floor.””
“That doesn't exist.””
“Not here.””
He looked at the old man.
“At the research center.””
I couldn't breathe.
“Then why is she still there?””
Luke looked down.
“Because when I tried to take her…”
He stopped.
“What?””
“She wasn't alone.””
“Who was with her?””
Luke's eyes met mine.
“Your mother.””
I shook my head.
“No.””
“She knew me.””
“No.””
“She called me by my childhood nickname.””
“No.””
“She told me to leave.””
I couldn't process it.
My mother had been dead.
My husband had lied.
His father had faked his death.
Rachel had hidden the truth.
And my baby was inside a laboratory with the mother I had buried eleven years ago.
Then Eli tugged at my sleeve.
“Mommy.””
I looked down.
“What?””
He was staring at the photograph.
His face had gone pale.
“That's not Grandma.””
I frowned.
“What do you mean?””
He pointed at the woman holding June.
“Grandma had brown eyes.””
I looked closer.
The woman in the photograph had blue eyes.
My mother's eyes had always been dark brown.
My heart began pounding.
Eli whispered,
“That lady isn't Grandma.””
I zoomed in again.
The face looked almost identical.
Same hair.
Same jaw.
Same small scar near the chin.
But the eyes were wrong.
Then I noticed something else.
On the woman's wrist was a tattoo.
A crescent.
Rachel's tattoo.
I looked at Rachel.
She shook her head.
“No.””
The woman in the photograph wasn't my mother.
She was Rachel.
Older.
Different hair.
But unmistakably her.
I turned toward her.
“You knew.””
Rachel stared at the photograph.
“I didn't know.””
“You've been there.””
“I swear.””
“You're in the picture.””
Her face crumpled.
“I've never seen that room.””
Luke took the phone.
He stared at the image.
Then he whispered,
“That isn't Rachel.””
Everyone looked at him.
“How do you know?””
“Because Rachel has a scar on her left wrist.””
He pointed at the photograph.
“The woman doesn't.””
Rachel turned her wrist over.
A thin white scar crossed the skin.
I looked back at the picture.
The tattoo was on the opposite arm.
Luke's voice became barely audible.
“That's someone pretending to be Rachel.””
The old man suddenly smiled.
“Now you're finally asking the right question.””
I turned toward him.
“Who is she?””
He looked at Eli.
“Your son's biological aunt.””
Eli's face went white.
“My mommy's sister?””
The old man nodded.
“She has been dead for twenty years.””
The lights flickered again.
Then every phone in the room received the same message.
I looked at mine.
One sentence.
*Bring Eli to the laboratory, or June dies at midnight.*
Below it was a second message.
A countdown.
*01:00:00*
I looked at Luke.
“We have one hour.””
He nodded.
The police officer reached for his radio.
But before he could speak, the old man whispered,
“You're already too late.””
May you like
Outside the nursery window, a black SUV started its engine.
And inside it sat a woman holding my baby.
