Natalie closed her eyes.
“Eight days.”
For several seconds, I honestly thought I had misunderstood her.
“Eight days?”
“Yes.”
“There has been a woman living inside our wall for eight days?”
“Grant—”
“While Owen sleeps twenty feet away?”
“She had nowhere else to go.”
“You didn't think that was something you should mention to me?”
Mara interrupted.
“She was protecting me.”
“From whom?”
Neither woman answered.
That silence gave me my answer.
Someone specific.
Someone they both feared.
“Who?”
Natalie finally spoke.
“My father.”
I laughed once.
It was involuntary.
“Malcolm?”
Natalie's father, Malcolm Voss, was seventy-one years old.
He owned one of the largest commercial construction companies in Massachusetts.
His name appeared on university buildings.
Hospital wings.
Scholarships.
Charity galas.
St. Catherine's Medical Center had an entire pediatric pavilion bearing the Voss family name.
At our wedding, Malcolm had given a speech about finally having the son he never had.
“You expect me to believe your father is hunting a hospital employee?”
Mara looked directly at me.
“He isn't hunting me because I worked at the hospital.”
“Then why?”
“Because I know what happened there.”
Before she could continue, my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I opened the message.
There was no text.
Only a photograph.
Owen.
Taken that morning outside his elementary school.
He was holding his red lunchbox.
I felt my stomach drop.
A second message appeared.
CLOSE THE PANEL.
Natalie covered her mouth.
Mara whispered, “He knows.”
I looked toward the front windows.
“Who took this?”
Mara didn't answer.
I called Owen's name.
He came running.
“Yeah?”
I lifted him immediately.
“Get your shoes.”
“Why?”
“We're going somewhere.”
Natalie stopped me.
“Grant, don't leave.”
“Somebody photographed our son.”
“That is exactly why you shouldn't go outside.”
I stared at her.
“Then start talking.”
She looked at Mara.
Mara slowly sat on the cot.
“What I'm about to tell you is going to sound impossible.”
“Today is going pretty well for impossible.”
Mara almost smiled.
Then it disappeared.
“Do you remember the night Owen was born?”
Of course I did.
Natalie's labor had lasted nineteen hours.
Then everything went wrong.
Her blood pressure crashed.
Doctors rushed her into emergency surgery.
Owen had breathing problems and disappeared into neonatal intensive care.
I was kept outside for nearly two hours.
Nobody explained anything clearly.
Eventually a doctor came out and told me Natalie would recover.
Twenty minutes later, a nurse brought me my son.
He was tiny.
Angry.
Red-faced.
Perfect.
“You were outside the operating wing,” Mara said.
“Yes.”
“And Natalie was sedated.”
“Yes.”
“That gave someone approximately ninety minutes when neither parent could physically identify which infant was supposed to be returned to your room.”
My mouth went dry.
“What are you suggesting?”
Natalie whispered, “This is what I didn't know.”