Chapter 11 - THE CHILD THEY STOLE
For fifteen years, I had carried the same memory inside me.
A hospital room.
White curtains.
The smell of antiseptic.
Rain tapping against the windows.
And Logan sitting beside my bed, holding my hand while I cried.
He had looked devastated.
He had told me our baby was gone.
He had told me the doctors had tried everything.
He had told me there had been complications during the delivery.
And because I was nineteen, frightened, exhausted, and still bleeding from childbirth, I had believed the man sitting beside me.
I had believed the person who told me I had lost everything.
Now my father was standing ten feet away, looking at me as if he knew that one sentence had just destroyed fifteen years of my life.
“You had a son,” he said.
I stared at him.
The words didn't make sense.
“A son?”
My father nodded.
“A healthy baby boy.”
The room seemed to shrink around me.
“No.”
My mother began crying.
“Maya…”
“No.”
I backed away.
“You're wrong.”
My father didn't move.
“You were unconscious after the delivery.”
“Stop.”
“Logan took him.”
“Stop!”
My voice echoed through the underground facility.
Ethan stood silently near the wall.
He looked confused.
Terrified.
And somehow, despite everything I had just learned, I couldn't look at him.
Because every time I did, I saw a question I wasn't ready to answer.
My father walked toward an old metal cabinet.
He unlocked it.
Inside were dozens of folders.
Medical records.
Birth certificates.
Bank documents.
Photographs.
He removed one file and placed it on the table.
“Maya, you deserve to know everything.”
I didn't want to.
But I opened it.
The first page was a hospital birth record.
My name.
The date.
The time.
Then—
Male infant.
My hands began shaking.
I turned the page.
A photograph fell onto the table.
A newborn.
Tiny.
Red-faced.
Wrapped in a white hospital blanket.
A small identification bracelet around his wrist.
I picked it up.
The name written across it was partially faded.
But I could still read it.
Baby Sterling.
I covered my mouth.
“That was him?”
My mother nodded.
“Yes.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
“We tried.”
“Then why did I wake up believing he was dead?”
My father looked away.
“Because Logan had already prepared the story.”
Daniel picked up another document.
“This isn't a normal medical record.”
“What is it?”
“It's a transfer authorization.”
He turned the paper toward me.
Someone had signed my name.
Again.
A signature that looked almost identical to mine.
But it wasn't mine.
My stomach twisted.
“The same forgery.”
Daniel nodded.
“Exactly.”
I looked at the signature.
Then at my father.
“Who signed this?”
“Logan.”
“Where did he take my son?”
My father hesitated.
“That is the part we've never been able to prove.”
I slammed my palm against the table.
“You knew he took him and you couldn't find him?”
“We tried.”
“For fifteen years?”
“Yes.”
My father looked broken.
“Every time we got close, someone moved him.”
“Who?”
My father didn't answer.
Instead, he handed me another document.
An adoption record.
Except it wasn't an adoption.
The child's name had been replaced with a number.
The adoptive parent section was blank.
And at the bottom was one signature.
Logan Vance.
I stared at it.
“Why would Logan sign an adoption record?”
“He didn't.”
Daniel studied the page.
“He signed the authorization transferring custody.”
“To whom?”
My father slowly shook his head.
“We never found out.”
Then Ethan spoke.
His voice was quiet.
“But I know.”
Everyone turned.
Ethan reached inside his jacket.
He removed an old photograph.
“I've had this since I was a child.”
He placed it on the table.
It showed a woman.
Me.
Much younger.
Standing outside a hospital.
I stared at the photograph.
“I've never seen this.”
“I have,” Ethan said.
“Someone kept it in my room.”
“Who?”
He hesitated.
“Logan.”
My heart stopped.
Before I could say anything, the lights suddenly went out.
Total darkness.
Then—
BANG!
A gunshot echoed through the facility.
My mother screamed.
Ryan grabbed Ethan.
Daniel pulled me behind the concrete wall.
Another gunshot followed.
Then came the sound of heavy footsteps.
Slow.
Controlled.
Getting closer.
Ryan looked at the security monitor.
His face went pale.
“They found us.”
“Who?”
May you like
He looked at me.
“Logan.”
