The moment I heard Marilyn’s voice in the hallway, something inside me went cold.
Not anger.
Not fear.
Something deeper.
Instinct.
Dr. Patel noticed the change in my face immediately. She turned toward the door, then back to me, lowering her voice.
“Claire,” she said quietly, “before anyone else comes in… I need to confirm something. Has anyone ever told you that you delivered a baby before?”
My brain stalled.
“No,” I whispered. “This is my first pregnancy.”
Dr. Patel’s expression didn’t change — which somehow made it worse.
“Your cervix,” she said carefully, “shows clear evidence of a prior full-term birth. There are also healed lacerations consistent with delivery trauma. This is not something that can be mistaken.”
My heart began pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.
“That’s impossible,” I said. “I’ve never—”
She turned the tablet again.
“There’s more.”
She tapped the screen.
A lab report.
A surgical record.
A discharge summary.
All with my name.
Dated four years ago.
I stopped breathing.
The door opened before I could process it.
Marilyn walked in first, perfume heavy, smile artificial.
“Well?” she said brightly. “Did she stop pretending yet?”
Caleb followed behind her, looking uncomfortable, avoiding my eyes.
Dr. Patel straightened.
“This is a private medical consultation,” she said firmly. “I need a moment alone with my patient.”
Marilyn scoffed.
“Oh please. I’m her mother-in-law. I practically take care of her.”
Dr. Patel didn’t blink.
“Out,” she said.
Something in her tone worked.
Marilyn rolled her eyes but stepped back into the hallway, dragging Caleb with her.
The door shut.
Silence filled the room.
My hands were shaking violently.
“What is this?” I whispered, pointing at the records.
Dr. Patel sat down beside the bed.
“These documents show you were admitted to a hospital four years ago at thirty-eight weeks pregnant,” she said. “You delivered a healthy baby girl via assisted vaginal delivery. There were minor complications, but both mother and child were discharged two days later.”
The words felt unreal.
“I never had a baby,” I said.
My voice sounded distant — like it belonged to someone else.
Dr. Patel leaned forward.
“Claire… do you remember anything unusual from around that time? A surgery? Hospital stay? Memory gaps?”
And suddenly—
Something flickered.
A memory.
Blurred.
Fragments.
A severe migraine.
Feeling drugged.
Marilyn insisting I “rest.”
Caleb bringing me tea.
Darkness.
Waking up sore.
Being told I had “severe anemia” and needed recovery time.
My stomach twisted violently.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
Dr. Patel’s eyes widened slightly.
“You remember something?”
I looked up at her, terror flooding my chest.
“I… I thought I was sick,” I said. “Marilyn said I collapsed from exhaustion. She said I needed weeks to recover.”
Dr. Patel went very still.
“Claire,” she said slowly, “were you living with your husband and mother-in-law at that time?”
“Yes.”
“And were they handling your medical appointments?”
My throat closed.
“Yes.”
The realization hit like a freight train.
Cold.
Brutal.
Unavoidable.
“They took my baby,” I whispered.
Dr. Patel didn’t answer immediately.
She didn’t need to.
Because her silence confirmed everything.
At that exact moment, voices rose outside the room.
Marilyn again.
Louder now.
Annoyed.
“I want to see her. This is ridiculous.”
A nurse responded firmly.
“Ma’am, you need to wait—”
Then another voice joined.
Male.
Official.
“Is this the patient’s family?”
Footsteps approached.
The door opened.
A hospital administrator stepped inside… followed by a uniformed police officer.
My heart stopped.
The administrator looked directly at me.
“Mrs. Carter,” he said carefully, “we’ve contacted law enforcement because the records associated with your prior delivery contain serious irregularities.”
The officer stepped forward.
“We need to ask you some questions,” he said gently.
Behind him, in the hallway, Marilyn’s face had gone completely pale.
Dr. Patel spoke softly near my ear.
“Claire… based on what we’re seeing… it’s possible your child was removed from you without informed consent.”
My entire body began shaking.
“Is… is she alive?” I whispered.
Dr. Patel swallowed.
“We don’t know yet.”
Then she added the words that made the room spin:
“But there is a birth certificate.”