Chapter 1 - THE LABEL INSIDE THE BELLY
Mateo lifted the corner of the silicone prosthesis and found a narrow white label sewn beneath the elastic strap.
The printing was faded, but the words were clear enough.
ST. AGNES MATERNITY — NEWBORN TRANSFER
PATIENT: BABY M. RIVERA
DATE: NOVEMBER 18 — THREE YEARS EARLIER
Elena stopped breathing.
November 18. The date Sofia had been born.
Mateo looked at the label, then at his wife. “Why would a fake pregnancy belly have a hospital transfer label from the day Sofia was born?”
Vanessa's face drained of color. “I don't know.”
“You said it belonged to you.”
“I said it was mine. I didn't say I knew what was inside it.”
Mateo's voice dropped. “You can explain that to the police.”
Vanessa looked toward Elena. Something like shame crossed her face.
“Your mother knows,” she whispered.
Elena turned slowly. “My mother-in-law?”
Vanessa nodded. “Beatriz arranged it. She gave the baby away.”
Mateo stared at her. “My mother told us our son died.”
“He didn't.”
Elena gripped the edge of a shelf. Three years earlier, she had delivered at St. Agnes after thirty hours of labor. She remembered the operating-room lights, Mateo's voice, and a nurse saying their daughter was healthy. She remembered asking whether the second baby was all right. She remembered the doctor looking away.
They had told her the boy had been born without a heartbeat. She had never held him. The hospital had arranged everything, and she had been given a small white box and a certificate.
Now a transfer label dated the day he was born was hidden inside a fake pregnant belly.
“Where is he?” Elena whispered.
Vanessa's eyes filled. “His name is Gabriel now. He's three years old, and he's at St. Catherine's Children's Residence, outside Austin.”
“Why is our son in a children's residence?” Mateo demanded.
“He was adopted by a couple named Ruiz. They were told his birth mother had died. But he was born with a heart condition. When Mr. Ruiz died, his wife couldn't afford the treatment. She surrendered him to St. Catherine's.”
Elena made a sound that did not seem to come from her throat.
Three birthdays. Three years of wondering what her son might have looked like.
Mateo pulled out his phone. “I'm calling the police.”
“Wait,” Vanessa cried. “Beatriz has people there. If you go without knowing who they are, she could move him again.”
“How do you know all this?” Elena asked.
Vanessa's silence was answer enough.
“You've seen him,” Elena said.
Vanessa began to cry. “Yes.”
“How many times?”
“Six.”
Elena's grief turned sharp. “You held my child while I stood at his grave.”
“I didn't know what to do.”
“You knew where he was.”
Mateo called his security director and ordered him to locate Beatriz. Then he called an attorney and asked for an emergency child-protection specialist.
When he ended the call, he looked at Elena. “We're going to get our son.”
Elena pressed one hand to her chest. “What if he doesn't know us?”
“Then we'll introduce ourselves,” Mateo said. “Every day, for as long as it takes.”
Vanessa sank onto a folding chair. “There's something else. Beatriz didn't give him away because of his heart.”
May you like
Mateo turned.
Vanessa lifted her wet eyes. “She gave him away because of what was written on his birth record.”
