Chapter 2 - The Woman in the Coffin
I approached the coffin again without touching it.
The woman lying inside wore Emily’s ivory maternity dress.
Her dark hair had been styled the way Emily wore it at our wedding.
Her hands rested over her abdomen.
A thin gold chain circled her neck.
From across the room, she looked exactly like my wife.
Up close, small details began to fracture the illusion.
Emily had a pale scar beneath her left eyebrow from a bicycle accident when she was twelve.
The woman in the coffin did not.
Emily’s wedding ring had three tiny diamonds set beneath the main stone.
This ring had only one.
I turned toward my mother.
“Who is she?”
Mother’s face remained carefully blank.
“That is your wife.”
“No.”
I stepped closer to the coffin.
“You dressed her like Emily.”
“You styled her hair like Emily.”
“But she isn’t Emily.”
Caleb stood abruptly.
My hand moved toward my belt by instinct, though I was not carrying a weapon.
“Sit down.”
“This is insane,” Caleb said.
“Your grief is making you see things.”
I pointed toward the woman’s eyebrow.
“Where is the scar?”
Neither of them answered.
The infant’s crying grew louder upstairs.
I moved toward the staircase.
Mother stepped in front of me.
“The baby finally settled.”
“He is not settled.”
“He is screaming.”
“You don’t know what he needs.”
The sentence landed harder than she intended.
I stared at her.
“He is my son.”
“You have been gone for almost a year,” she replied.
“And you’ve been here for less than an hour.”
A door opened upstairs.
A woman in pale gray scrubs appeared at the top of the staircase.
She held my son against her chest.
He was wrapped so tightly in a blue blanket that only his red face was visible.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Marissa Cole.”
“I’m a private neonatal nurse.”
“Licensed where?”
She hesitated.
“Virginia.”
“What hospital delivered him?”
Mother answered for her.
“St. Matthew’s.”
I searched the name on my phone.
The nearest St. Matthew’s Hospital had closed its maternity ward four years earlier.
Marissa saw the result on my screen.
Her expression changed.
I climbed the stairs.
“Give me my son.”
“He needs to remain calm.”
“So do I.”
I held out my arms.
Marissa looked toward Mother for permission.
That single glance told me everything I needed to know about who she actually worked for.
“Now,” I said.
She reluctantly placed the baby in my arms.
The moment I held him, his crying softened.
His tiny fingers caught the edge of my uniform jacket.
I looked down at his hospital bracelet.
The printed name was not Noah Hale.
It read BABY BOY MERCER.
Below it was a date of birth from six days earlier.
Mother had told me Emily died two days ago.
A car engine sounded outside.
Caleb moved toward the window.
Three black vehicles passed through the estate gates.
Elena was early.
But when the first vehicle stopped, the man who stepped out was not Elena.
It was Sheriff Howard Crane.
He entered with four deputies.
His hand rested on his holster.
“Captain Hale,” he said.
May you like
“Put the child down.”
“Your mother reports that you are armed, unstable, and attempting to abduct an infant who may not be yours.”
