Melissa finally turned her face back to me. There was no hesitation in her gaze, only a calculated coldness that seemed terrifyingly out of place in a woman who had just given birth.
“I am Melissa Thornton,” she hissed. “My family built half of Chicago. Do you think I’m going to introduce a son with a deformity on his face to society? My husband is in Germany closing deals. He doesn’t even know there were twins. The tests only showed one baby.”
I swallowed hard. I remembered the bribes, the falsified paperwork to keep the pregnancy “private.”
“What exactly do you want me to do?” I asked, though the dread in my gut told me I already knew the answer.
Melissa looked at Ruthie, then back at me. When she spoke, her voice was so casual she could have been ordering a coffee.
“Throw him in the trash. Give him to someone. Leave him at a church. I don’t care. I just don’t want to see that creature ever again.” She adjusted the perfect baby in her arms. “This one is my son. The only one. Understood?”
The baby in my arms chose that moment to open his eyes. Two dark orbs met mine. The purplish mark framed that gaze like a tragic mask, but there was no tragedy in those eyes. Only curiosity. Trust.
I looked at Melissa, this woman of jewels and power who was discarding a life like a defective dress. Then I looked at the baby.
“Alright,” I lied, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. “I’ll take care of this. You’ll never see this baby again.”
I turned my back and walked toward the door. In the hallway, Ruthie caught up with me, tears streaming down her face.
“Doctor, you’re not really going to—”
“No,” I interrupted, looking both ways down the empty corridor. “I’m going to take him home. I’m going to raise him.”
I rushed to the elevator, pressing the button for the parking garage. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird in a cage. I had just kidnapped a baby. I had just stolen an heir to the Thornton empire.
As the elevator descended, I looked down at the boy. “You’re going to need a name,” I whispered. “Wesley. I’m going to call you Wesley.”
I reached my car, my hands shaking as I strapped him in with the seatbelt—I didn’t even have a car seat. I climbed into the driver’s seat, fumbling for my keys. My phone buzzed.
A text message. Unknown number.
I saw everything. We need to talk. Meet me at the corner cafe at 6:00 AM. Don’t tell anyone.
I froze. Someone knew.
Seven years passed like water slipping through clenched fingers.
North Central Hospital in Nashville had become my sanctuary. I wasn’t Dr. Marlene Sheridan anymore; I was Dr. Elena Castillo. I had built a new life, brick by brick, lie by lie.
Wesley was seven years old now. A bright, energetic boy with dark, inquisitive eyes and a laugh that could light up a room. The purplish mark on his face had lightened somewhat, but it was still there—a permanent shadow stretching from his temple to his eye. The kids at school called him “Two-Face” or “Stain.” He never cried in front of them, saving his tears for his pillow at night.
Every sob of his was a knife twisting in my heart.
That Tuesday morning, the ER was a war zone. I was finishing a routine appendectomy when the intercom crackled.
“Dr. Castillo, Code Red in Trauma One. Severe head injury. Imminent risk.”
I ran. The smell of copper and gasoline hit me before I even entered the bay.
“Male, approximately fifty years old,” the head nurse shouted over the chaos. “Car flipped on the highway. Pressure dropping fast. We can’t get him stabilized.”
I rushed to the gurney. The patient was a mess of blood and torn expensive fabric. A grey Italian suit, ruined. A gold watch, cracked. I grabbed the laryngoscope, my hands moving on autopilot.
“Tube is in,” I announced. “Bag him.”
I looked up at the monitor. The heart rate was erratic. I needed to check his pupil response. I reached down and wiped the blood from his forehead with a piece of gauze.
And then the world stopped spinning.
The birthmark was there.
It was a purplish stain, extending from his right temple to the corner of his eye. It was identical to Wesley’s—only mirrored. The same shade. The same jagged shape.
I felt my knees turn to water. My hands, usually steady as rock, began to tremble.
“Dr. Castillo?” the nurse asked. “Doctor, are you okay?”
I couldn’t speak. I stared at the man. Carlton Thornton. Melissa’s husband. The man I had robbed of a son. The man who never knew he had twins.
He lay there, dying on my table, bearing the same mark that his wife had called a deformity. The universe had a cruel sense of humor, throwing father and son into the same city, into the hands of the same woman who had separated them.
“Get him to the OR,” I commanded, my voice hoarse. “Now. I’m scrubbing in.”
I operated on him for six hours. I opened his skull, drained the hematoma, and stitched him back together. I saved the life of the man who could destroy mine with a single phone call.
When I finally stepped out of the OR, it was night. I leaned against the cold corridor wall, gasping for air. I needed to grab Wesley. We needed to run. Again.
My phone vibrated. I pulled it out, expecting a message from the babysitter.
It was an unknown number.
I heard my husband is there. I’m catching the first flight to Nashville. See you soon, Doctor. We have a lot to talk about.
Melissa was coming.
I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t.
At 9:00 AM, I was standing in the hospital lobby, fueled by caffeine and terror. I had told the school I would pick Wesley up early, but I needed to deal with her first.
Melissa Thornton walked through the automatic doors like she owned the building. She hadn’t aged a day. Her blonde hair was shorter, sharper. Her navy suit was armor.
She spotted me instantly. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“Dr. Sheridan,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “Or is it Castillo now? It took me a while to find you. You hide well.”
“Not here,” I said, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the empty hospital cafeteria. “We talk in private.”
She sat down at a sticky table, looking at the plastic chairs with disdain. She pulled an envelope from her purse and slid it across the table.
“My husband is in a coma upstairs,” she said. “I know you saved him. Irony is a funny thing.”
“What do you want, Melissa?”
“Circumstances have changed,” she said coolly. “Carlton found out about the twins two years ago. Don’t ask how—loose lips in the old hospital staff. He’s been hunting for the ‘lost’ boy ever since. It’s put quite a strain on our marriage.”
She tapped a manicured nail on the envelope.
“Inside is a check for five hundred thousand dollars. Enough to disappear to Europe. In exchange, you give me the boy.”
I stared at her. “You want Wesley? You ordered him into the garbage.”
“I need leverage,” she shrugged. “If I bring the lost son back to Carlton, I’m the hero. He forgives me. Our marriage is saved. And Bradley—Wesley’s twin—gets his brother back.”
“You want to use him as a prop,” I spat. “Just like you used him as trash before.”
“I have proof you kidnapped a patient,” Melissa said, her voice dropping an octave, turning lethal. “I have the forged documents. I can send you to prison for twenty years, Marlene. And Wesley will end up in the system. Or… you take the money, and he lives a life of luxury.”
I stood up, grabbing the envelope. I tore it in half. Then in quarters. I threw the pieces in her face.
“Wesley is my son,” I said, my voice shaking with rage. “I raised him. He loves me. If you try to take him, I will tell Carlton everything. I will tell the press you threw your own baby away because of a mark.”
Melissa’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
I turned and ran. I needed to get to the school. I needed to get Wesley and vanish.
I drove like a maniac, running red lights, my heart pounding in my throat. I pulled up to the elementary school, screeching the tires. I ran into the front office.
“Wesley Castillo,” I gasped to the receptionist. “I’m here to pick him up.”
The receptionist frowned, looking at her clipboard. “Mrs. Castillo? But… his grandmother just picked him up.”
The world turned gray. “What?”
“Yes, about twenty minutes ago. A Mrs. Thornton? She had a signed authorization letter from you.”
“I didn’t sign anything!” I screamed. “Where did they go?”
My phone rang. It was Melissa.
“He’s in the back seat,” she said, her voice cheerful. “He’s eating a chocolate bar. Children are so easy to bribe.”
“Please,” I begged, tears streaming down my face. “Please don’t hurt him.”
“Meet me at the Grand Hotel, Room 1204,” she said. “Come alone. Or I call the police and report a kidnapping.”
Click.
I stood in the school office, defeated. She had him. She had won.
But then, a thought struck me. A dangerous, reckless thought.
Melissa had the boy. But I had the father.
I ran back to my car.
I burst into the ICU. The nurse on duty tried to stop me, but I flashed my badge and pushed past.
Carlton Thornton was awake.
He was groggy, blinking against the harsh lights, trying to pull at the IV in his arm. When he saw me, he froze. His eyes—Wesley’s eyes—locked onto mine.
“You,” he croaked, his voice like sandpaper. “I know you.”
I locked the door behind me and rushed to his bedside.
“Mr. Thornton, listen to me. We don’t have much time.”
“My wife…” he mumbled. “She said… accident.”
“Mr. Thornton, look at me,” I said, grabbing his hand. “Seven years ago, your wife gave birth to twins. One had a birthmark on his face. She ordered me to throw him away.”
The machine beeping accelerated. Carlton’s eyes went wide.
“I saved him,” I said, crying now. “I raised him. His name is Wesley. And he has a mark on his face exactly like the one you have right now.”
I pulled out my phone and showed him a picture of Wesley from his last birthday.
Carlton stared at the screen. He touched the glass with a trembling finger. Tears welled in his eyes.
“He’s real,” he whispered. “I knew it. I knew she lied.”
“She has him,” I said. “She kidnapped him from school thirty minutes ago. She’s at the Grand Hotel. She’s going to use him to manipulate you.”
Carlton tried to sit up. He groaned in pain, clutching his head.
“You can’t get up,” I said. “You just had brain surgery.”
“Get me my clothes,” he growled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The weakness was there, but the rage in his eyes was stronger. “If she has my son, I’m going to kill her.”
“I’ll drive,” I said.
We moved like fugitives. I helped him into a wheelchair, threw a blanket over his hospital gown, and we took the service elevator to the basement. I got him into my car. He was pale, sweating, barely holding on, but his jaw was set in stone.
We reached the Grand Hotel in record time. I helped him walk through the lobby, ignoring the stares. We took the elevator to the 12th floor.
Room 1204.
I used my stethoscope to listen at the door. I heard the TV. I heard Melissa’s voice.
Carlton pushed me aside. He didn’t knock. He kicked the door near the lock with a strength I didn’t know he possessed. The wood splintered, and the door swung open.
Melissa was sitting on the sofa, a glass of wine in her hand. Wesley was sitting on the floor, playing with a toy car, looking terrified.
When we burst in, Melissa stood up, dropping her glass. It shattered, red wine staining the white carpet like blood.
“Carlton?” she gasped. “You… you should be in a coma.”
Carlton didn’t look at her. He looked at the boy.
Wesley looked up. He saw me and scrambled to his feet. “Mom!”
He ran to me, burying his face in my stomach. I held him tight, checking him for injuries.
Then, Wesley looked at the man beside me. He looked at the bandage on Carlton’s head, and the bruising that mirrored his own mark.
Carlton fell to his knees. He reached out a hand.
“Hi,” he whispered.
“You have a mark like me,” Wesley said, his voice full of wonder.
“Yes,” Carlton said, tears streaming down his face. “I do. I’m… I’m your dad, Wesley.”
Melissa tried to step forward. “Carlton, wait. Let me explain. I found him for you! I tracked down this woman who stole him—”
“Stop,” Carlton said. He didn’t shout. He didn’t have to. The word was absolute.
He stood up slowly, swaying slightly, supported by the wall. He looked at his wife with a look of pure disgust.
“You threw him away,” he said. “My son. My blood.”
“I did it for us!” she shrieked. “For our image!”
“There is no ‘us’,” Carlton said. “Get out.”
“What?”
“Get out. Leave the country. If I ever see your face again, if you ever come near Bradley or Wesley, I will use every cent I have to ensure you spend the rest of your life in a cell. Go.”
Melissa looked at me. Then at Wesley. Then at the ruin of her marriage. She grabbed her purse and ran out the door.
Carlton slid down the wall, exhausted. I rushed to him, checking his pulse.
“I’m okay,” he wheezed. “I’m okay.”
He looked at Wesley, who was hiding behind my leg.
“Thank you,” Carlton said to me. “You didn’t steal him. You saved him.”
The legal battle was messy, but short. With Carlton’s testimony and resources, the kidnapping charges against me never materialized. Melissa fled to France and hasn’t returned.
We sat in the living room of my small apartment six months later. It was crowded.
Wesley was on the floor, building a Lego castle. Next to him was another boy, identical in every way, except his face was flawless. Bradley.
They moved in sync, laughing at the same jokes, sharing a secret language that only twins possess.
Carlton sat on my sofa, looking healthy, the scar on his forehead fading.
“They’re getting along well,” he said, taking a sip of coffee.
“They’re inseparable,” I agreed.
“Marlene,” Carlton said, putting his cup down. “I meant what I said. I want you to be part of this. You’re the only mother Wesley has ever known. I can’t take him away from you.”
“I know,” I said.
“But I can’t live without him either. Or Bradley.” He paused. “My house in Chicago is big. Too big. There’s a guest house. Or… we could figure something else out.”
I looked at the two boys. My son, and the son I had given back.
“We’ll figure it out,” I said.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number. I knew who it was. Loretta.
I see the family is back together. You did good, Doc. You did good.
I smiled and put the phone away.
“Mom!” Wesley yelled. “Bradley says he’s faster than me. Watch!”
They took off running down the hallway, the sound of their laughter filling the air. Two boys. One mark. One family, stitched together by secrets, surgery, and love.
I looked at Carlton. “You owe me a new pair of shoes,” I said. “I broke a heel running from the hospital.”
He laughed. “I think I can afford that.”
For the first time in seven years, I didn’t have to look over my shoulder. The past was gone. The future was loud, messy, and absolutely perfect