Chapter 4 - The Reflection
Camille had worked for Francesca Bellini long before she became Vincent's fiancée.
That was the explanation Vincent gave when I demanded to know why she had been in my hospital room six years ago.
"She was twenty-five," he said over the telephone. "My mother employed her as an administrative coordinator. I was in Milan, returning early because I had been told the baby might come that week."
"You told me you were in Milan when I tried to reach you."
"I was. My father had my office line forwarded to his assistant."
The facts clicked together without becoming less ugly. The private number I remembered had stopped working. The voicemail at his office had been answered by polite strangers. I'd assumed he'd chosen to disappear. He had assumed I'd taken money and walked away.
"Camille says the photograph was taken while she delivered flowers," he said. "She insists she knew nothing about your baby."
"Would you believe that if it were anyone else?"
He didn't answer immediately. "No."
That afternoon I met Evelyn Park in the back of a neighborhood library. She was fifty-three, with a tired face and a canvas tote full of paper files. After leaving St. Agnes she'd taken a job at a suburban pediatric clinic. Her voice shook only when she mentioned the nursery.
"We used to call it a lost-transfer discrepancy," she said. "Baby leaves one unit, never arrives in the destination system. Usually it's a clerical error. This time the destination was changed after the mother had been discharged."
"I wasn't discharged," I said.
"That's why I challenged it. Your chart was still active. The infant's chart wasn't. They told me an outside legal team had requested privacy restrictions."
"Did you see who took him?"
"No. But I signed the infant's transfer order before somebody amended it."
She unfolded a photocopy bearing her initials and a timestamp. The receiving destination read SPECIAL CARE NURSERY, ST. AGNES. A handwritten correction had replaced it with FAMILY RELEASE, BELLINI.
Evelyn pointed to the correction. "That isn't my writing. And nobody contacted me for authorization."
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"I tried. My report vanished, and your file was marked confidential. I was frightened of losing my license. I waited years before I found a paper trail strong enough to approach you. I should have done more."
The honesty hurt more than excuses would have. I thanked her and asked whether she'd testify if a court needed her.
"Yes," she said. "I should have said that years ago too."
Outside the library I found my phone flashing with messages. One was from a former coworker, asking whether it was true I had illegally taken a child's DNA. Another contained a screenshot of a neighborhood group. Camille's friend had posted my photograph beside a warning about a nanny who infiltrated a wealthy home and claimed a child was hers.
My name wasn't visible. My face was.
Naomi told me not to respond. Vincent's lawyer was demanding a retraction. I tried to obey both of them.
Then I read a comment saying Leo should be warned about "that unstable woman" before she showed up at his school.
There is a kind of panic that makes a person confuse action with courage. I had lived six years without knowing whether my son was alive; now strangers were discussing whether I was dangerous. I found the folded drawing Leo had made for me—two stick figures inside a blue house, one taller than the other—and wrote a note on the back.
You are loved. None of this is because of you. I will always answer if you ask about me.
I sent it to the address of Leo's teacher, whom I knew from pickup. I asked her only to save it, not to deliver it without his father's permission.
By evening Vincent was at my apartment door.
"His teacher forwarded your note to the school counselor," he said. "They called me because Leo saw your name on the envelope. He thought you'd been arrested."
My stomach sank. "I asked her not to give it to him."
"He saw it anyway. He tried to run past the front desk to find you."
I sat down on the arm of my sofa.
"He's safe?"
"He's with me. But please don't use his school as a way around me."
"I wasn't trying to."
"I believe you weren't trying to frighten him. You did."
I stared at the drawing on my wall, the one Leo had given me last Christmas. The two houses on its corner were crooked, but every window had a light.
"I won't contact his school again," I said.
Vincent nodded once. He looked exhausted. "Naomi and Judith are asking the court for an expedited review. There may be limits on contact until we know more."
Before he left, he put a small plastic bag on my table. Inside was Leo's red toy car.
May you like
"He wanted you to keep it safe," Vincent said. "He thinks people come back for things they love."
After the door closed, I held the car in my palm and wondered whether I'd just taught him the opposite.
