Ryan reached into his pocket again. This time, it wasn’t a photograph. It was a small hospital bracelet. Old. Yellowed. Faded with age. I looked at it. There was a name printed across it. I read it once. Then again. My entire body went numb. Because the name belonged to me. Not my current name. The name our mother had written on my original birth certificate. A name I had never heard before. ELENA CARTER. I looked at Ryan. “Who is Elena?” He stared at me. “You are.” I couldn’t speak. Ryan’s voice broke. “That’s your original name.”
Melissa covered her mouth. “But why would someone leave her bracelet in our nursery?” Ryan slowly shook his head. “I don’t think it was meant for you.” I looked down at the baby. Her tiny fingers were curled into a fist. And suddenly, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before. There was a second mark. Tiny. Almost invisible. Just beneath her left shoulder. Three small dots. Exactly like the ones in the old photograph. I whispered, “Ryan…” He stepped closer. “What?” I turned the baby slightly. “Look.” He saw it. His expression collapsed. “No.” “What?” He backed away. “No, no, no…” “Ryan, what is it?”
He pointed at the three tiny dots.
“That symbol…”
His voice trembled.
“I’ve seen it before.”
“Where?”
He looked at me.
“In Dad’s storage unit.”
My heart pounded.
“What did you find there?”
Ryan didn’t answer.
He walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To get the records.”
“Ryan—”
He stopped.
Then he turned around.
“There was a box.”
“What box?”
“The box Dad hid from us.”
“What was inside?”
Ryan looked at the baby.
Then at me.
“Photographs.”
“What photographs?”
“Of children.”
My skin prickled.
“How many?”
Ryan swallowed.
“Twenty-three.”
I stared at him.
“Twenty-three?”
He nodded.
“All of them had the same mark.”
The baby suddenly stopped crying.
The room became eerily quiet.
Ryan looked at her.
Then he whispered something that made my blood run cold.
“And every photograph was taken before the child disappeared.”
Melissa screamed.
I pulled the baby tightly against my chest.
A nurse rushed back into the room.
“What happened?”
Nobody answered.
Because at that exact moment, Ryan’s phone vibrated.
He looked at the screen.
His face went completely blank.
“What is it?” I asked.
He didn’t respond.
“Ryan?”
Slowly, he turned the phone toward me.
There was a new message.
No phone number.
No name.
Just six words.
YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE LOOKED AT HER BACK.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Then another message appeared.
NOW THEY KNOW SHE IS ALIVE.
And before any of us could react, the lights in the hospital room went out.
The Mark on Her Back — Part 3: The Truth
Part 3: The Truth
The hospital room went completely dark.
For one terrifying second, nobody moved.
Then the baby started crying.
Her tiny cry cut through the darkness.
I held her against my chest.
“Ryan?”
“I’m here.”
His voice came from somewhere near the door.
Melissa began sobbing.
“Why did the lights go out?”
Before Ryan could answer, the emergency lights flickered on.
The room was suddenly filled with a dim red glow.
A nurse rushed toward the hallway.
“Everyone stay here.”
Ryan grabbed her arm.
“Lock the door.”
She stared at him.
“Sir?”
“Please.”
Something in his voice made her listen.
She closed the door and locked it.
Ryan turned toward me.
“We have to leave.”
“Leave?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
I looked at the baby.
“I just gave birth. I can’t go anywhere.”
“I know.”
“Then stop talking like we’re being hunted!”
Ryan’s eyes filled with tears.
“We are.”
Melissa stared at him.
“You’re scaring me.”
“I know.”
He looked at both of us.
“And I’m sorry.”
Then he pulled out his phone again.
The screen was still displaying the mysterious message.
NOW THEY KNOW SHE IS ALIVE.
I swallowed.
“Who are ‘they’?”
Ryan looked at me.
“I finally know.”
My heart stopped.
“Who?”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out an old envelope.
“This was in Dad’s storage unit.”
He handed it to me.
The envelope had our father’s handwriting on it.
My hands trembled as I opened it.
Inside was a letter.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
My father had written it shortly before he died.
I began reading.
If you are reading this, then the truth has finally found you.
My eyes filled with tears.
Your mother and I were told that one of our children would be taken.
I stopped.
Ryan leaned closer.
“What does it say?”
I continued.
We were young. We were frightened. We had no money and no one to protect us. Someone offered to help us after the twins were born.
My hands shook harder.
But there were not two babies.
I looked at Ryan.
He was crying.
I kept reading.
There were three.
Melissa covered her mouth.
“No…”
The words blurred through my tears.
The first child was a girl.
She was born eleven minutes before the twins.
She had the mark.
They told us the mark meant she belonged to them.
I lowered the letter.
“What does that mean?”
Ryan whispered,
“Keep reading.”
I forced myself to continue.
We refused to give her away.
So they threatened us.
They said they would take all three children if we didn’t cooperate.
My heart shattered.
I looked at Ryan.
“That means…”
He nodded.
“Mom and Dad were protecting us.”
I continued.
We made a terrible choice.
We changed the records.
We told everyone there were only two babies.
Our daughter was given another identity and secretly raised by someone we believed we could trust.
I stopped reading.
The room seemed to spin.
“Someone raised her?”
Ryan nodded.
“But who?”
I looked at the final paragraph.
My father’s handwriting became shakier.
If she ever comes back, tell her that we never abandoned her.
We searched for her.
We loved her.
And we were sorry every day.
Below that was a name.
A name I had never heard before.
Dr. Samuel Carter.
I looked at Ryan.
“Who is that?”
He shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Then Melissa suddenly spoke.
“I do.”
We turned toward her.
She was staring at the letter.
“My father used to mention that name.”
Ryan’s face changed.
“Your father?”
Melissa nodded slowly.
“He was a doctor.”
Silence.
“What kind of doctor?” I asked.
She looked at me.
“Obstetrics.”
My stomach dropped.
Ryan stepped backward.
“No.”
Melissa began crying.
“My father worked at the hospital where we were born.”
Nobody spoke.
Then the door handle moved.
Everyone froze.
Someone was trying to open the locked door.
Ryan stepped in front of us.
“Who is it?”
No answer.
The handle moved again.
Then a voice came from the hallway.
“Ryan?”
Melissa recognized it immediately.
“That’s my mother.”
She rushed toward the door.
Ryan stopped her.
“Wait.”
“But that’s Mom!”
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