Chapter 9 - The Baby Beatrice Lost
Tessa couldn't move.
Beatrice stared at her with a look of recognition so intense it was almost frightening.
"The baby," she whispered again.
Damian approached the bed.
"Mother, who are you talking about?"
Beatrice shook her head.
"They said she died."
Tessa felt cold.
"Who died?"
Beatrice began crying.
"My little girl."
Damian stopped breathing for a moment.
His mother had lost a daughter.
Not a niece.
Not some stranger's child.
A daughter.
He crouched beside her.
"Mom, what little girl?"
Beatrice touched his cheek.
"You were so small."
Damian's heart pounded.
"How small?"
"Three."
Tessa looked at him.
Damian was twelve years older than her.
The timeline didn't fit.
Not yet.
Beatrice closed her eyes.
"Anthony said it was better."
"What was better?"
"To send her away."
Then the clarity disappeared.
Beatrice began asking for her breakfast, though she'd eaten an hour earlier.
Dr. Whitmore examined her and advised against further questioning while she was distressed.
Damian obeyed.
But afterward, he took Tessa into the hallway.
Neither spoke for several seconds.
Finally, Tessa said, "She thinks she knows me."
"Yes."
"She thinks I'm someone else."
"Maybe."
Tessa stared at him.
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Look at me like you've already decided something."
Damian looked away.
She continued.
"Your mother has Alzheimer's. She could be remembering a baby who died thirty years ago. She could be confusing me with my mother. There are a hundred explanations."
"You're right."
"But you're thinking one specific thing."
Damian met her eyes.
"Yes."
Tessa's voice dropped.
"What?"
He hesitated.
"That there may be a reason my parents knew your mother."
Tessa felt suddenly nauseated.
"If you're about to tell me we're related—"
"I'm not."
"Good."
"Because I don't know."
She stared at him.
The words hung between them.
For days, something complicated had been growing in the silences they shared.
An awareness neither had acknowledged.
Now it stood beside a possibility that made both of them recoil.
Damian stepped back.
"We need facts."
"Yes."
"And until we have them, I don't want to make assumptions."
Tessa nodded.
It was the first sensible thing he'd said in several minutes.
That evening, Paul located a former nurse from the clinic.
Her name was Helen Price.
She was seventy-four and living in a retirement community two hours away.
She agreed to speak with Damian's attorney.
Not Damian.
Not Paul.
An attorney.
Helen remembered Beatrice Costa.
And she remembered something unusual about the clinic in 1999.
"Mrs. Costa was there constantly," she said during the recorded interview, with her consent.
"Was she a patient?" the attorney asked.
"No. A donor. Her husband funded part of the expansion."
"Did she have a child in her care?"
Helen frowned.
"She visited the nursery. Several times. She was especially attached to a little girl."
"What happened to that child?"
Helen looked uncomfortable.
"I wasn't involved in placement decisions."
"Was the girl Beatrice Costa's biological daughter?"
"No. Not as far as I know."
The attorney waited.
Helen continued.
"Beatrice had been told the child's mother couldn't keep her."
"And was that true?"
"I don't know."
"Did Beatrice try to adopt the girl?"
Helen's expression shifted.
"She wanted to."
The attorney leaned forward.
"What stopped her?"
Helen looked down at her hands.
"Anthony Costa."
"Why?"
"I can't prove it. But I remember hearing that the child's original records were connected to an investigation the clinic was trying to keep quiet."
"What investigation?"
Helen took a long breath.
"Several women had complained that they'd been pressured to sign adoption papers while recovering from complicated deliveries. Some said they never understood what they were signing."
Damian's attorney remained silent.
Helen's voice trembled.
"I left because I couldn't trust what was happening."
The interview ended without identifying the child.
But it established something significant.
Beatrice's memory was connected to a real event.
She had become attached to a baby girl.
Anthony had interfered.
And the clinic had a history of questionable adoption practices.
Later that night, Damian received the interview summary.
He read it twice.
Then he called Elena Brooks.
"I want to discuss the clinic records," he said.
Elena's reply was immediate.
"Does this concern my client?"
"Possibly."
"Then I'll need to speak with her before sharing anything."
"Of course."
A pause.
Elena sounded surprised.
"You're accepting that?"
"Yes."
"Good. Because Miss Miller has had enough powerful people making decisions about her without permission."
Damian closed his eyes.
He couldn't argue.
The next morning, Tessa received a certified copy of an older document from her mother's belongings, discovered during her search.
It was a letter Margaret had written but apparently never sent.
The paper had yellowed.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
My darling Tessa,
If you ever learn what happened before I brought you home, please understand that I did not abandon you.
I was trying to save you.
Tessa read the words again and again.
Then she saw the date.
The letter had been written on her sixteenth birthday.
May you like
And beneath her mother's signature was a name she had never heard before.
Ask Helen what happened at Saint Agnes.
