PART 4 — THE TRUTH MY WIFE HAD BEEN HIDING
“Bring the baby.”
The voice repeated those words through my wife's phone.
Then:
“Or Tessa dies.”
My wife went completely still.
I grabbed the phone.
“Who are you?”
A distorted voice answered.
“You know exactly who we are.”
“No, I don't.”
“You will.”
The call ended.
I looked at my wife.
“What did you do?”
She shook her head.
“I didn't do anything.”
“Then why are they threatening our daughter?”
“Because they know I have the files.”
“What files?”
She reached into her bag and pulled out a small black drive.
“This.”
I stared at it.
“What is it?”
“Everything.”
She looked toward Tessa.
“Names. Payments. Birth records. Children who disappeared.”
My stomach tightened.
“How did you get this?”
“From my brother.”
“R?”
She nodded.
“He wanted to leave.”
“Then why did he keep following us?”
“Because leaving wasn't enough.”
She lowered her voice.
“They don't let people leave.”
A loud crash came from outside.
My wife grabbed my arm.
“They're here.”
We ran.
I carried Miles while my wife took Tessa's hand.
We escaped through the back door and ran toward my truck.
But before I could start the engine, a vehicle blocked the driveway.
Three men stepped out.
One held a gun.
“Put the baby down.”
I moved in front of Miles.
“No.”
The man raised his weapon.
Then another voice came from behind them.
“Stop.”
A woman stepped out of the SUV.
I recognized her.
The woman who had been following us.
My wife's face turned white.
“Mom?”
I froze.
Her mother?
The woman looked at my wife.
“You weren't supposed to tell him.”
My wife began crying.
“I had no choice.”
The woman looked at me.
“You need to understand something, Grant.”
“What?”
“Your wife didn't choose you because she loved you.”
My heart sank.
“She chose you because of your blood.”
I stared at my wife.
She couldn't look at me.
“What does that mean?”
Her mother answered.
“Your family has been connected to us for generations.”
I shook my head.
“My father was a mechanic.”
“No.”
She smiled sadly.
“Your father was one of the founders.”
My entire world collapsed.
The organization.
The illegal adoptions.
The missing children.
My father.
It was all connected.
I looked at my wife.
“You knew?”
She nodded through tears.
“I found out after we married.”
“Then why didn't you leave?”
“Because I discovered something.”
“What?”
She looked at Miles.
“He wasn't supposed to be born.”
Silence.
“What are you talking about?”
“They knew I was pregnant.”
“Who?”
“The organization.”
My wife's mother stepped closer.
“They wanted the baby.”
“Why?”
She looked at Miles.
“Because of his DNA.”
I felt sick.
“My DNA?”
“Yes.”
She looked at me.
“You carry a rare genetic marker.”
I remembered the birth certificate.
The impossible date.
The DNA test.
Everything suddenly connected.
“They wanted to use Miles.”
“For what?”
My wife's mother didn't answer.
My wife did.
“To create a treatment.”
“For what?”
“For a disease affecting the children of wealthy families.”
I stared at her.
“So this was about money?”
“Partly.”
She shook her head.
“But the experiments were illegal.”
Then I noticed something.
The woman was holding a photograph.
A photograph of my father.
Beside him stood R.
And between them was a young girl.
I recognized her.
My wife.
She had been a child.
Maybe ten years old.
I looked at my wife.
“You were raised in this organization.”
She nodded.
“I escaped when I was seventeen.”
“And you met me?”
“I was assigned to watch you.”
My heart broke.
“So our entire relationship started as a lie.”
“At first.”
She stepped closer.
“But I fell in love with you.”
I wanted to believe her.
But before I could answer, Tessa screamed.
A man had grabbed her.
I turned.
“LET HER GO!”
The gunman pulled her toward the SUV.
My wife ran forward.
Her mother shouted:
“Don't!”
I grabbed the man's arm.
We struggled.
Then I heard a gunshot.
The man fell.
I looked behind him.
R stood there.
He lowered the weapon.
“Tessa!”
She ran into my arms.
R looked at my wife.
“You finally told him.”
She nodded.
“It's over.”
R shook his head.
“No.”
He looked at Miles.
“It's just beginning.”
Then he threw something toward me.
A small envelope.
I opened it.
Inside was a hospital photograph.
Miles as a newborn.
But the date was six months before my wife gave birth.
I stared at the photograph.
“That can't be him.”
R looked at me.
“It isn't.”
My wife covered her mouth.
I turned toward her.
“Whose baby is Miles?”
She whispered:
“I don't know.”
R answered for her.
“He was switched.”
My blood ran cold.
“Switched with whom?”
R looked at my wife.
“That's the question you should be asking.”
He pulled another photograph from his pocket.
It showed two newborn babies.
One was Miles.
The other looked almost identical.
Underneath the photograph were two names.
MILES CARTER
UNKNOWN MALE INFANT
Then R said:
“The other baby was taken eight months ago.”
“Where?”
He looked directly at me.
“Your house.”
I felt dizzy.
“No.”
He nodded.
“The baby your wife gave birth to never left the hospital.”
I looked at my wife.
She was crying.
“You knew?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“I swear I didn't.”
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man's voice whispered:
“Grant…”
“Who is this?”
“You're holding the wrong baby.”
My heart stopped.
“Where is my son?”
The voice laughed quietly.
“Which one?”
The call ended.
I looked down at Miles.
He was sleeping peacefully against my chest.
Then I noticed something I'd never noticed before.
A tiny birthmark behind his left ear.
My wife suddenly gasped.
“That wasn't there when he was born.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
She stepped closer.
“That mark…”
Her face went pale.
“My brother had the same one.”
I looked toward R.
He was already backing away.
“Wait!”
He stopped.
“Tell me the truth!”
He turned around.
Then said:
“Grant, your son isn't missing.”
He pointed toward the road.
“He's been living with someone else this entire time.”
“Who?”
R looked at my wife.
“Her.”
My wife froze.
I looked at her.
She shook her head violently.
“I don't understand.”
R smiled sadly.
“You will.”
Then he disappeared into the darkness.
I held Miles tighter.
For the first time, I wasn't sure who I was protecting.
Or whether the child in my arms…
was actually the son I had spent eight months loving.
