Chapter 5 - The Woman Who Put Sophie in My Arms
Roman arrived in nine minutes.
I knew because I counted every one of them.
Two police officers checked the building while I stood beside Sophie’s bed gripping a kitchen knife I would probably have been useless with.
She slept through everything.
Roman entered my apartment alone after Ortiz cleared him.
He stopped in the doorway to Sophie’s room.
Not because I told him to.
Because he seemed to understand that stepping farther inside without permission would be wrong.
“Where was the picture taken from?”
I pointed toward the fire escape.
His jaw tightened.
“Camera angle?”
“Probably the landing.”
Ortiz came behind him.
“We found shoe impressions. Nothing useful yet.”
I looked at her.
“Somebody stood outside my daughter's window.”
“Yes.”
“You said officers were outside.”
“They were in front.”
My laugh sounded hysterical.
“Great.”
Roman turned toward Ortiz.
“Move them inside.”
She stared at him.
“You don't give my officers orders.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“Mara does.”
Ortiz raised an eyebrow.
I said, “Inside.”
“Done.”
By morning, I had packed two suitcases.
Not because Roman told me to leave.
Because I did.
Ortiz placed us in a state-controlled safe residence forty minutes north.
Roman was not given the address.
That mattered to me.
He accepted it.
That mattered too.
At noon, Ortiz called from Pennsylvania.
They had found Evelyn Shaw.
She had not been kidnapped.
She had run.
When confronted at a bus station, she asked for immunity.
Ortiz said, “She claims she helped save Sophie.”
I sat down.
“What?”
“She says Rebecca Lane changed her mind.”
“About what?”
“Giving the baby to Salvatore.”
I closed my eyes.
Rebecca.
The woman who brought me soup.
Ortiz continued.
“Rebecca agreed to serve as gestational carrier for money.”
“So she knew?”
“She knew she was carrying a DeLuca child.”
My stomach twisted.
“Did she know the egg was mine?”
“Not initially.”
“And later?”
“Yes.”
I held the phone tighter.
“Why me?”
“She found your name in the file.”
I remembered cinnamon gum.
Rebecca sitting at my kitchen table while I recovered.
Telling me I looked tired.
Making me laugh.
Had she known then?
Ortiz answered before I asked.
“She met you deliberately.”
I stood.
“No.”
“She wanted to see you.”
“Why?”
“Because she had already undergone embryo transfer.”
I pressed my free hand to my mouth.
Rebecca had been carrying Sophie when she brought me soup.
My daughter had been in the room with me before I knew she existed.
The thought broke something open.
Ortiz's voice softened.
“Rebecca apparently became increasingly disturbed by the program.”
“What happened?”
“She learned Salvatore intended to remove the baby immediately after birth and place her with a family-controlled guardian until needed.”
“Needed for what?”
“Succession leverage.”
I felt ill.
“She decided she wouldn't allow it.”
“So she ran?”
“No.”
Ortiz paused.
“She was already medically dependent on the clinic.”
“What does that mean?”
“High-risk pregnancy.”
I sat again.
“Evelyn says Rebecca made her promise that if anything happened during delivery, the baby would go to you.”
My eyes filled.
“To me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Rebecca believed you had been violated too.”
I couldn't speak.
“Evelyn took Sophie from the clinic.”
“Stole her?”
“Rescued or stole will depend on who tells the story.”
“What happened to Rebecca?”
Silence.
“Ortiz.”
“She hemorrhaged after delivery.”
My chest tightened.
“Could they have saved her?”
“Evelyn believes yes.”
I went cold.
“What does that mean?”
“She claims the lead physician delayed transferring Rebecca to a hospital because an emergency admission might expose the clinic.”
I stood so fast the chair fell over.
“She died to protect their secret.”
“That is what Evelyn alleges.”
I pressed my forehead against the wall.
Four years.
For four years, I had called Rebecca a friend who disappeared.
She had carried my daughter.
She had chosen me.
She had died in the same machine that stole from me.
Sophie wandered into the room holding Captain Moose.
“Mama?”
I wiped my face.
“Hi, baby.”
“You sad?”
“A little.”
She climbed onto my lap.
“Get the scared out.”
I laughed through tears.
“Working on it.”
That afternoon, the DNA lab called.
I asked them to wait until Ortiz was present.
Roman joined by video from Bellavista.
No lawyers.
No assistants.
Just him.
The genetic counselor spoke carefully.
“Sophie Ellis is biologically related to both submitted adult samples.”
I stopped breathing.
“Probability of maternity exceeds 99.99 percent.”
My arms tightened around myself.
“And paternity?” Roman asked.
“Also exceeds 99.99 percent.”
Silence.
The room disappeared.
Sophie was mine.
Not because a court said so.
Not because I adopted her.
Not because I loved her.
She had been mine before anyone let me know she existed.
And Roman—
Roman was her father.
I looked at the tablet.
His face had gone completely still.
“Sophie is not here,” I said.
“I know.”
“She doesn't hear this from anyone except me.”
“Yes.”
“We take time.”
“Yes.”
“You do not show up and call yourself Dad.”
“No.”
“You do not change her name.”
“No.”
“You do not put her in that family’s trust, papers, press releases, or whatever else wealthy families do.”
Roman waited.
“That last one may require legal protection eventually.”
I stiffened.
He added, “Protection from my family, not possession by it.”
I studied him.
“You've had two days to think about being her father.”
He looked away.
“I've had two days to think about what my father did.”
“That's not the same.”
“No.”
He looked back.
“I have had approximately thirty seconds to understand she's my daughter.”
For the first time, his voice cracked.
Very slightly.
But I heard it.
“I don't know what I'm supposed to feel.”
Neither did I.
Then Ortiz's phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
She ended the call.
“Serena's attorney just filed a petition.”
“For what?”
Ortiz looked at me.
“Emergency custody evaluation involving Sophie.”
I almost laughed.
“She isn't even related to her.”
“No.”
“Then how?”
“She claims you're psychologically unstable and that Sophie is in danger with you.”
Roman’s face on the tablet changed.
Cold.
Dangerous.
Ortiz continued.
“She attached medical records from five years ago.”
My surgery.
My forged records.
My body.
Used against me again.
Roman stood.
“Who gave her those?”
Ortiz said, “That is what we're going to find out.”
Then Roman looked straight at me.
“Mara.”
“What?”
May you like
“Serena did not build this alone.”
And for the first time, I realized the fake pregnancy might have been only the visible part of something still alive.
