I held Noah against me while Adam remained beside the bed. The next half hour felt endless, but eventually he went out for coffee.
As soon as the door closed, I reached for my phone. An unfamiliar number had sent a video lasting just twenty-seven seconds.
I pressed play, expecting an explanation for Ruth’s warning. Within five seconds, the phone slipped onto the mattress.
I looked toward the door, then back at the screen. Whatever had happened while I was unconscious, Adam had not told me the truth—and he would be back any moment.
Part 2: Twenty-Seven Seconds
The recording came from a security camera overlooking the delivery anteroom. Adam stood beside a transport incubator, holding a sleeping newborn, while his mother, Patricia Bennett, handed him a pen and adoption surrender papers.
Patricia said I had nearly died and couldn’t manage two babies. A private agency in Chicago had already transferred an initial payment; Adam was to tell me the second twin had been stillborn.
He signed without hesitation and passed the baby to a waiting medical courier. My son was alive, and the man comforting me had helped arrange his removal while I lay unconscious.
I pulled Noah closer just as Adam returned with two coffees. Sliding the phone beneath my pillow, I asked him to check the birth certificate paperwork with the nursing staff.
The moment he left, Ruth entered and locked the door. “Where is my other son?” I asked.
