Chapter 3 - THE BABY WHO DIDN’T DIE
Grant denied being inside St. Agnes Hospital when Grace was born.
Not immediately.
That was what Emily noticed.
He said, “I wasn’t involved in your medical care.”
That was not the same sentence.
Emily stepped closer.
“Were you at the hospital?”
Grant stared at Noah.
“Your mother had incomplete information.”
“Were you there?”
“I came later.”
“How much later?”
“The next morning.”
Emily felt the room tilt.
“You told me you were in Tahoe.”
“I drove back.”
“Why?”
“Your mother called my father.”
Grant’s father had been a longtime attorney for the Prescott family.
Emily had known Grant since childhood in the vague way wealthy families knew one another.
Holiday parties.
Golf tournaments.
Parents exchanging favors.
At twenty-three, Emily had barely noticed him.
She had been in love with Michael Reyes.
“What did my mother need from your father?”
Grant’s mouth tightened.
“Legal advice.”
“About what?”
He looked toward Noah.
Emily followed his gaze.
“No.”
She stood between them.
“Do not protect me from my own life one more time.”
Grant sat.
“Your mother believed Michael would contest decisions about the baby.”
“What decisions?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Liar.”
“I was twenty-six, Emily.”
“You were old enough to drive back from Tahoe in the middle of the night.”
He said nothing.
Emily picked up Grace’s letter.
Page two began with a line she had not managed to read earlier.
I did not learn the truth from Grant. I learned it from a retired nurse named Helen Cho.
Emily took out her phone.
Noah stopped her.
“She’s eighty-two.”
“I’m not going to yell at her.”
“She was scared when Mom found her.”
“Why?”
“Because she signed something.”
Emily’s fingers stopped.
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
Grant stood.
“You need to slow down.”
Emily turned on him.
“You had four years.”
That silenced him.
Helen Cho lived in Cupertino.
Noah had her number.
Emily called at seven-fifteen.
An elderly woman answered after four rings.
“Hello?”
“My name is Emily Walker.”
Silence.
Then a breath.
“Oh.”
Emily closed her eyes.
“You know me.”
“I know your name.”
“My daughter spoke to you.”
Another silence.
“Yes.”
“Grace Carter.”
“Yes.”
“She died Tuesday.”
Helen made a small sound.
“I’m sorry.”
“Was she my daughter?”
Grant walked toward the windows.
Helen answered carefully.
“I was a night nurse at St. Agnes when you delivered.”
“Was my baby alive?”
“Yes.”
One word.
Thirty-six years collapsed.
Emily sat because her knees no longer worked.
Noah turned away.
Grant pressed his forehead to the window.
“How long?”
Emily whispered.
“She was premature, but stronger than expected.”
“How long did she live?”
“Emily—”
“How long?”
Helen began crying.
“She did not die there.”
Emily covered her mouth.
“What happened?”
“You were in surgery for complications.”
“I remember waking up.”
“You lost a lot of blood.”
“I remember my mother.”
“Yes.”
“She told me the baby died.”
Helen’s voice broke.
“I know.”
“Why?”
“I was told there was a private adoption plan already in place.”
“There wasn’t.”
“I know that now.”
“Who told you?”
“Your mother.”
Emily looked at Grant.
He did not turn around.
“My mother could not give away my child.”
“No.”
“Then how?”
“There were papers.”
“What papers?”
“A relinquishment.”
“I never signed one.”
Helen was quiet.
Emily stood again.
“I never signed one.”
“I didn’t see you sign it.”
“But you saw it.”
“Yes.”
“Who had it?”
“Your mother and an attorney.”
“Grant’s father?”
“I don’t remember the man’s name.”
Grant turned.
“My father never handled adoptions.”
Emily stared at him.
“Apparently someone did.”
Helen continued.
“The baby was transferred the next afternoon.”
“To who?”
“A licensed private agency in San Jose. I don’t remember the name.”
“Did Michael know?”
“He came to the hospital.”
Emily stopped breathing.
“When?”
“The morning after delivery.”
“No.”
“He was at the nurses’ station.”
“No.”
“My mother told me he never came.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Did he see the baby?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What happened?”
“Security removed him.”
Emily squeezed the phone.
“Why?”
“Your mother said you did not want him there.”
Emily started crying.
Not quietly.
Not elegantly.
Thirty-six years of believing Michael had abandoned her.
Thirty-six years of remembering the pay phone outside her hospital room and wondering why he never called.
“Did I say that?”
“No.”
“Were you asked?”
“No.”
Helen’s voice shook.
“I should have said something. I was young. Your family had lawyers. Administrators were involved. I was told everything was legal.”
Emily looked toward Noah.
He had tears on his face too.
“Helen, Grace said she found something at St. Agnes.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A copy of the relinquishment was in an archived risk-management file.”
“Do you have it?”
“No. Grace had a copy.”
Noah looked up.
“The blue folder.”
He hurried upstairs.
Grant stepped toward Emily.
“Em.”
She backed away.
“No.”
“I did not forge anything.”
“Then you should be very interested in who did.”
Noah came down carrying a blue accordion folder.
He placed it on the table.
Inside were hospital notes.
A transfer form.
A private-adoption intake sheet.
And a notarized relinquishment.
Emily saw her name.
Emily Anne Prescott.
Her old signature had been copied beautifully.
Almost.
She always looped the bottom of the P twice.
The signature on the form looped once.
The date was June 18.
Emily looked at the hospital record.
She had been returned to surgery at 9:40 that morning for uncontrolled bleeding.
The relinquishment had been notarized at 10:15.
She stared at the two times.
“I was unconscious.”
Noah nodded.
“So Mom said.”
Grant sat down.
Emily turned to the witness line.
The name was unfamiliar.
Graham West.
She frowned.
Noah opened Grace’s notes.
“She couldn’t find Graham West anywhere.”
Grant looked at the paper.
His expression changed.
Emily noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
Grant stood.
“I need to call my attorney.”
Emily’s stomach turned.
“Why does that name scare you?”
“It doesn’t.”
“Then answer.”
Grant closed his eyes.
When he opened them, he looked older.
“Graham was my middle name.”
Emily stared at him.
Grant Michael Walker.
She had forgotten.
His grandfather’s name.
Graham.
“Walker,” she whispered.
He said nothing.
“Graham West.”
Noah’s face hardened.
Emily looked at the forged relinquishment again.
G. West.
A family representative.
Witness to a signature she never made.
She lifted her eyes to her husband.
“You weren’t just at the hospital.”
May you like
Grant’s silence answered before he did.
“You signed the paper that took my daughter away.”
