PART 3
I felt my fingers tighten around the blanket.
“No.”
He opened his eyes.
“Clara…”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You’re saying that because you don’t want him to come here. You’re trying to protect him. Maybe he called you. Maybe he’s somewhere and doesn’t want to face me.”
“I wish that were true.”
“Then where is he?”
Ricardo didn’t answer.
“Where is Brad?”
The question came out louder.
The nurse looked toward the door.
My baby began to fuss.
I immediately reached for him.
“Give him to me.”
The nurse placed my son against my chest.
The moment I felt his warm little body against me, I held him as tightly as my exhausted arms would allow.
“My baby,” I whispered.
Then I looked at Ricardo again.
“You’re his father.”
“Yes.”
“Then you know where he is.”
Ricardo swallowed.
“I know where he was.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
He slowly walked toward the chair beside my bed.
He sat down.
For the first time since he had entered the room, the famous, intimidating doctor looked like an ordinary old father who had run out of strength.
“Seven months ago,” he said, “Brad called me.”
I remembered that night.
Seven months earlier.
The night Brad had stood in our bedroom with a backpack.
The night I had told him I was pregnant.
The night he had looked at me with an expression I couldn’t understand.
The night he had said he needed to think.
“You told me he disappeared,” I said.
“He disappeared from everyone.”
“From me.”
“Yes.”
“From you too?”
Ricardo nodded.
“He called me that night. His voice sounded strange.”
“What did he say?”
Ricardo looked toward the baby.
“He asked me if I had ever regretted being his father.”
My breath caught.
“What?”
“I thought he was drunk. Or angry. I asked him what happened. He wouldn’t tell me.”
Ricardo rubbed his forehead.
“He kept saying one thing.”
“What?”
“‘Dad, if something happens to me, don’t let them find her.’”
My heart stopped.
“Find who?”
Ricardo’s eyes met mine.
“You.”
The room seemed to shrink.
I shook my head.
“No.”
“He didn’t explain who ‘they’ were.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to believe what I have spent seven months trying to understand myself.”
I looked down at my son.
His tiny fingers curled around the fabric of my hospital gown.
“Then why didn’t he tell me?”
Ricardo looked away.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re his father.”
“I know.”
“You’re a doctor.”
“I know.”
“You should have found him.”
The words came out like a scream.
“You should have found your son!”
Ricardo didn’t defend himself.
He just lowered his head.
“I tried.”
“How hard?”
His silence answered before he did.
“Every day.”
I stared at him.
“Then where is he?”
Ricardo reached into the inner pocket of his white coat.
He pulled out a small plastic evidence bag.
Inside was a black wedding ring.
My heart stopped.
I knew that ring.
Brad had worn it every day.
A simple black band with a thin silver line around the middle.
I had given it to him on our wedding day.
My hands began shaking.
“Where did you get that?”
Ricardo placed the bag on the bedside table.
“They found it in his car.”
“Found it?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Ricardo took a breath.
“Near Lake Michigan.”
The room went cold.
“When?”
“Seven months ago.”
I stared at him.
“You told me he left.”
“I didn’t know what else to tell you.”
“You knew?”
“We found the car two days after he disappeared.”
My mouth went dry.
“And?”
Ricardo’s eyes filled again.
“The driver’s door was open.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Was there blood?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
That was enough.
“Was there blood?”
“A little.”
I closed my eyes.
“No.”
“There was no body.”
My eyes opened.
“What?”
“There was no body.”
I stared at him.
“Then how can you say he’s dead?”
“I can’t.”
“Then don’t.”
Ricardo nodded slowly.
“I haven’t.”
A strange feeling moved through me.
For seven months, I had believed Brad had abandoned me.
I had hated him.
I had cried over him.
I had whispered his name to my unborn son and promised myself that one day I would tell my child the truth.
His father left.
His father didn’t want him.
His father was a coward.
But now—
Maybe none of that was true.
I looked at the black ring inside the plastic bag.
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
Ricardo’s expression changed.
“I didn’t know where you were.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You’re telling me the most respected doctor in Chicago couldn’t find his own son’s pregnant wife?”
“I searched.”
“You should have searched harder.”
“I did.”
“Then why didn’t you find me?”
He looked at me.
“Because someone had already made sure you disappeared.”
My blood ran cold.
“What?”
Ricardo leaned closer.
“Clara, listen carefully.”
His voice changed.
The emotion disappeared.
Now he sounded like a doctor again.
Calm.
Precise.
Serious.
“When Brad disappeared, I reported his car missing. I contacted the police. I contacted hospitals. I checked his bank accounts. His phone was found destroyed near the lake.”
I stared at him.
“But two days before he disappeared, Brad transferred a large amount of money.”
“To who?”
“To an account under your name.”
My heart stopped.
“I never received money.”
“I know.”
“Then where did it go?”
Ricardo reached into his pocket again.
This time he pulled out an envelope.
He handed it to me.
My name was written on the front.
CLARA MENDOZA.
My hands trembled as I opened it.
Inside was a bank statement.
There was an account I had never seen.
An account opened under my name.
A transfer of $80,000.
I stared at the document.
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither did I.”
“Who opened this?”
“We’re still trying to find out.”
I looked at the date.
The transfer had happened three days before Brad left.
Three days before he told me he needed to think.
Three days before my entire life collapsed.
“Why would Brad put money in an account I didn’t know about?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re his father. You must know something.”
Ricardo stared at me.
“I know my son.”
His voice softened.
“Brad was stubborn. Sometimes reckless. But he wasn’t cruel.”
I looked away.
“He abandoned me.”
“I know what it looked like.”
“It wasn’t an illusion.”
“No.”
“Then what was it?”
Ricardo hesitated.
“A sacrifice.”
I laughed.
“A sacrifice?”
“Yes.”
“You call leaving your pregnant wife a sacrifice?”
“No.”
He looked directly into my eyes.
“I call disappearing so completely that even your own father believes you’re dead a sacrifice.”
My breath caught.
“What did Brad know?”
“I don’t know.”
“What was he running from?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who was after him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what do you know?”
Ricardo leaned forward.
“I know he was afraid.”
I stared at him.
“Brad wasn’t afraid of anything.”
“He was afraid of losing you.”
My eyes filled with tears.
Ricardo continued.
“He told me that if anyone contacted you, I was not to tell you about him.”
“Why?”
“He said the less you knew, the safer you would be.”
I shook my head.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I know.”
“He could have told me.”
“I know.”
“He could have trusted me.”
“I know.”
“He could have at least told me he loved me.”
Ricardo’s face crumpled.
“He did.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“He told me he loved you.”
I stopped breathing.
“When?”
“The last time we spoke.”
Ricardo’s voice became quieter.
“He said, ‘Dad, Clara is the only good thing that ever happened to me.’”
A tear rolled down my cheek.
I looked at my son.
His eyes were still closed.
His tiny lips moved as though he were dreaming.
I whispered,
“Then why did he leave?”
Ricardo didn’t answer.
Because neither of us knew.
Then suddenly, the monitor beside my bed began beeping faster.
The nurse looked at me.
“Clara?”
I realized my blood pressure had risen.
She adjusted the machine.
“Try to breathe.”
I closed my eyes.
I had just given birth.
My body was exhausted.
My mind was breaking.
And yet something inside me had changed.
For seven months, I had been mourning a marriage.
Now I realized I might have been mourning a man who wasn’t dead.
I opened my eyes.
“Where is his car?”
Ricardo frowned.
“What?”
“Brad’s car.”
“The police have it.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Where is it now?”
He hesitated.
“Why?”
“Because if he disappeared from that car, there might be something inside it.”
“We searched it.”
“Then search again.”
“Clara—”
“You said there was no body.”
“Yes.”
“You said his phone was destroyed.”
“Yes.”
“You said someone opened a bank account in my name.”
“Yes.”
“You said Brad was afraid.”
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
“Then you don’t have a missing-person case.”
Ricardo stared at me.
“You have a murder case without a body.”
The nurse froze.
Ricardo’s expression changed.
He slowly stood.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
“Because once we start thinking that way, we have to consider what Brad might have known.”
“And what if he’s alive?”
Ricardo didn’t answer.
“What if he’s somewhere waiting for someone to find him?”
His eyes filled with something I had never seen before.
Hope.
Terrifying, fragile hope.
Then the door opened.
A police detective entered.
She was in her forties, with dark hair pulled into a tight bun.
She stopped when she saw Ricardo.
“Doctor.”
Ricardo nodded.
“Detective Harris.”
She looked at me.
“Ms. Mendoza?”
“Yes.”
She stepped closer.
“I need to ask you a few questions.”
Ricardo immediately said, “She’s just given birth.”
“I know.”
“She needs rest.”
“I understand.”
The detective looked at me.
“But there’s something you need to know.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
She pulled a small photograph from a folder.
She placed it on the table.
I looked down.
It was a picture of Brad.
My husband.
Standing outside a gas station.
Alive.
I stopped breathing.
“When was this taken?”
“Six months ago.”
My hands began shaking.
“That can’t be.”
Detective Harris nodded.
“That’s what we thought.”
I looked at Ricardo.
He was staring at the photograph as if someone had punched him.
“Where?”
“Indiana.”
My heart pounded.
“Then you found him?”
“No.”
“What do you mean?”
“The photograph was taken by a security camera.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“So you know where he was.”
“We know where he was.”
“Then why didn’t you find him?”
Detective Harris lowered her voice.
“Because by the time we arrived, he was gone.”
I stared at the photograph.
Brad was wearing the same black jacket he had worn the night he disappeared.
But something else caught my attention.
His face.
He looked frightened.
Not angry.
Not confused.
Terrified.
And behind him stood a second man.
Partially hidden.
Watching him.
I pointed at the photograph.
“Who is that?”
Detective Harris looked at it.
“We don’t know.”
Ricardo took the photograph from her.
His face turned pale.
“Wait.”
“What?” I asked.
He moved the photograph closer to the light.
Then he whispered something that made my blood freeze.
“I know him.”
Detective Harris stared at him.
“You’re sure?”
Ricardo nodded.
“I’ve seen him before.”
“Where?”
Ricardo looked at me.
Then at the baby.
Then back at the photograph.
“Outside my hospital.”
The room went silent.
The detective immediately pulled out her phone.
“Are you saying this man has been watching your hospital?”
Ricardo didn’t answer.
He was staring at my son.
Then his eyes moved to the tiny crescent-shaped birthmark behind the baby’s ear.
His lips trembled.
“There’s something else,” he whispered.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“The birthmark isn’t just a family mark.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
Ricardo took a slow breath.
“Every Sullivan male in our family has it.”
“I know.”
“But Brad wasn’t born with it.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“He didn’t have it when he was born.”
My heart stopped.
“Then how…”
Ricardo looked at the baby.
“He developed it when he was three months old.”
I couldn’t speak.
“That isn’t possible,” I whispered.
“I know.”
He looked terrified.
“That’s why I cried when I saw your son.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought I was looking at Brad.”
I stared at my baby.
His little face.
His tiny nose.
His closed eyes.
And that strange crescent behind his ear.
Ricardo whispered,
“Clara, there is something you need to know about Brad’s childhood.”
The detective looked at him.
“What?”
Ricardo’s voice dropped to almost nothing.
“Brad was not the only baby born in our family that year.”
I looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
He hesitated.
Then the hospital lights suddenly flickered.
Once.
Twice.
And went out.
The room fell into darkness.
My baby began crying.
The nurse rushed toward us.
“It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Emergency lights came on in the hallway.
Red.
Dim.
Unnatural.
Then my phone vibrated on the bedside table.
I hadn’t touched it.
Nobody had.
The screen showed an unknown number.
One message.
I opened it.
There were only six words.
YOU SHOULD NEVER HAVE SAID HIS NAME.
My blood turned cold.
Then another message appeared.
THEY KNOW WHERE YOUR BABY IS.
PART 4
The second message remained glowing on my phone.
THEY KNOW WHERE YOUR BABY IS.
I couldn’t move.
My son was crying against my chest.
The nurse was trying to calm him, but my eyes were fixed on those words.
Someone knew.
Someone was watching.
Someone knew I had said Brad’s name.
And somehow, they knew my baby was here.
“Detective,” I whispered.
Harris immediately stepped toward me.
“What happened?”
I handed her the phone.
She read the message.
Her expression changed.
“Don’t respond.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.”
She pulled out her own phone.
“I’m going to have the communications unit trace this number.”
Ricardo was still standing near the foot of my bed.
He looked as if he had aged ten years in the last five minutes.
“Clara,” he said quietly.
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Don’t tell anyone you’re here.”
I stared at him.
“I’m in a hospital.”
“I know.”
“How am I supposed to hide that?”
“Don’t leave the room.”
Detective Harris looked at him.
“Doctor, I need you to explain exactly what you meant about Brad not being the only baby born in your family that year.”
Ricardo didn’t answer.
He looked at me instead.
“I need to show her something first.”
“Show me what?”
“Proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“That Brad wasn’t supposed to exist.”
My heart skipped.
“What?”
Ricardo walked toward the door.
“Come with me.”
Detective Harris immediately blocked him.
“Absolutely not.”
“He needs to see this,” Ricardo said.
“She just gave birth.”
“I know.”
“Then she stays here.”
Ricardo looked at me.
“Clara, there’s something in the hospital archives.”
My body felt weak.
“What kind of something?”
“Your medical record.”
“My medical record?”
He nodded.
“Something about your pregnancy that you were never told.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
He lowered his voice.
“Someone accessed your prenatal records seven months ago.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Who?”
“We don’t know.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because I found the access log.”