Chapter 2 — The Baby They Said Was Impossible
Chapter 2 — The Baby They Said Was Impossible
For seven seconds, nobody moved.
Ethan stood on the other side of the hospital door.
Luka stood between him and me.
And I stood barefoot beside the bed, holding my newborn daughter against my chest while my entire understanding of my life came apart.
"My father is dead," I whispered.
Ethan's voice came through the door.
"That's what they wanted you to believe."
Luka's eyes hardened.
"Don't listen to him."
I looked at Luka.
"Why?"
"Because he's lying."
Ethan knocked again.
"Elena, open the door."
"No."
My voice surprised me.
It didn't shake.
"Why should I?"
"Because you deserve to know the truth."
"You've had six years to tell me."
Silence.
Then:
"I wasn't allowed to."
I almost laughed.
"You weren't allowed to tell your wife her father was alive?"
"I was protecting you."
"You left me."
"I had to."
"You left me with our newborn daughter."
"I had no choice."
My fingers tightened around the blanket.
"You always have a choice."
Ethan didn't answer.
Luka looked at me.
"Don't open the door."
I nodded.
Ethan's voice became urgent.
"Elena, if you stay in that room, they'll take the baby."
My heart stopped.
"Who?"
"The hospital."
I looked at Luka.
He didn't deny it.
Ethan continued.
"Ask him about M-17."
Luka's jaw clenched.
"He's trying to turn you against me."
I stared at him.
"Is he wrong?"
Luka said nothing.
That silence frightened me more than Ethan's words.
Then the emergency lights went out.
Total darkness swallowed the room.
My daughter began crying.
Luka reached for me.
"Elena."
"I'm here."
"Stay behind me."
A metallic crash sounded in the hallway.
Then shouting.
Then running footsteps.
Someone screamed.
Luka pulled open the emergency cabinet beside the bed.
"Get inside."
"What?"
"Now."
"I am not hiding in a cabinet."
"It's not a cabinet."
He pushed aside the shelves.
A narrow passage appeared behind them.
My mouth fell open.
"What is that?"
"An old service corridor."
"How do you know?"
"I've used it before."
"Why?"
"Because your father showed it to me."
The answer silenced me.
He took my daughter carefully.
I almost protested.
Then another crash sounded outside.
Luka looked at me.
"Trust me for thirty seconds."
I followed him.
The passage smelled like dust and disinfectant.
My bare feet hurt against the concrete.
Luka carried my daughter with one arm and kept the other extended behind him, guiding me.
We walked for what felt like minutes.
Then we reached another door.
Luka stopped.
"Wait."
He listened.
Nothing.
He opened it.
We stepped into a small storage room on the opposite side of the maternity wing.
The emergency lights were working here.
I stared at him.
"Who are you?"
"Luka Moretti."
"I know your name."
"Then what are you asking?"
"Why do you know every secret passage in this hospital?"
He looked away.
"Because this isn't the first time I've protected someone here."
"Who?"
He didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
"Was it my father?"
"No."
"Then who?"
"A woman."
"What woman?"
His expression changed.
"Your mother."
My heart stopped.
"My mother died before my father."
"I know."
"Then why are you talking about her?"
"Because she didn't die."
I felt as though the floor had disappeared.
"My mother is dead."
"That's what you were told."
"Who told me?"
"Your father."
I stared at him.
"You keep saying my father lied."
"He did."
"About everything?"
"No."
"Then tell me what was true."
Luka looked at my daughter.
"Your mother died protecting you."
I couldn't speak.
He continued.
"Your father told the world she was dead because he needed to hide you."
"From whom?"
"M-17."
I shook my head.
"Stop saying that name."
"Why?"
"Because every time you say it, another piece of my life turns out to be a lie."
Luka's eyes softened.
"I know."
"No, you don't."
"I do."
He looked at me.
"Because I spent eleven years looking for the children they erased."
My breath caught.
"Children?"
"Yes."
"How many?"
"Seventeen."
I stared at him.
"M-17 wasn't a person."
"No."
"What was it?"
Luka took a breath.
"It was a project."
An hour later, we were moved to a private room on the hospital's restricted floor.
Luka had arranged security.
I still didn't understand how.
He seemed to know everyone.
Doctors.
Nurses.
Security guards.
Even the hospital director.
People looked at him and immediately stepped aside.
I sat on the bed with my daughter sleeping beside me.
Luka stood by the window.
"You said seventeen children."
"Yes."
"What happened to them?"
"Most were never allowed to exist."
My stomach turned.
"What does that mean?"
"Embryos were created, altered, implanted, monitored."
I stared at him.
"Why?"
"To test genetic compatibility."
"Compatibility for what?"
"Certain diseases."
He paused.
"Certain treatments."
I looked at my daughter.
"That's not what you said before."
"I didn't tell you everything."
"Why not?"
"Because you were still in shock."
"I'm still in shock."
"I know."
"Then tell me the truth."
Luka looked at me.
"M-17 was designed to create children with specific genetic markers."
"Why would anyone want that?"
"Money."
I laughed bitterly.
"Of course."
He continued.
"People with certain genetic profiles could be used in experimental treatments. Some wealthy families wanted biological matches for their sick children."
I stared.
"You mean donor children."
"Yes."
My blood ran cold.
"They created children to save other children?"
"That's how it started."
"And how did it end?"
Luka's face hardened.
"It didn't."
The door opened.
A woman entered.
She was the hospital's chief medical officer.
Dr. Celia Voss.
I recognized her immediately.
She had been present during my delivery.
She smiled.
"Mrs. Carter."
Luka moved between us.
"Stay back."
Dr. Voss frowned.
"This is a medical facility."
"I know."
"You have no right to interfere."
"I have every right."
She looked at the baby.
"Your daughter requires additional testing."
"No."
The doctor looked at me.
"She may have a rare condition."
"She's healthy."
"So far."
The words chilled me.
Luka's voice dropped.
"Get out."
Dr. Voss looked at him.
"Mr. Moretti, you have made a serious mistake."
"What mistake?"
"Assuming you understand what this child is."
I stood.
"What is she?"
Dr. Voss smiled.
"That's what we need to determine."
My daughter stirred.
I picked her up.
"You aren't touching her."
Dr. Voss's smile disappeared.
"You don't understand the situation."
"Then explain it."
She looked at Luka.
"He didn't tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
Dr. Voss walked toward the door.
"Ask him why your daughter has no matching neonatal record."
I froze.
"What?"
Dr. Voss left.
I turned to Luka.
"What did she mean?"
Luka didn't answer.
"Where is my daughter's record?"
"We have it."
"No."
I shook my head.
"She said there is no matching record."
Luka sighed.
"Because someone altered the system."
"Who?"
"We're trying to find out."
I looked at my daughter.
"What exactly is wrong with her?"
"Nothing."
"Then why are they so interested?"
Luka looked at me.
"Because her genetics shouldn't exist."
That sentence became the beginning of the nightmare.
By morning, three specialists had examined my daughter.
Her heart was perfect.
Her lungs were perfect.
Her blood work was normal.
Her neurological responses were normal.
Every test came back healthy.
But one genetic screen returned an anomaly.
The doctor stared at the results.
"I've never seen this."
Luka stood behind him.
"What?"
The doctor pointed.
"She's carrying two sequences that shouldn't occur together."
"Meaning?"
"They are normally incompatible."
I looked at my daughter.
"Is she sick?"
"No."
"Then what?"
The doctor hesitated.
"She's exceptionally resilient."
I frowned.
"That's not a disease."
"No."
He looked at Luka.
"That's why it's strange."
Luka took the report.
He read it.
Then his face went pale.
"What?"
He didn't answer.
"Luka."
He looked at me.
"Your daughter matches the M-17 profile."
My heart stopped.
"How?"
"Because the profile was designed."
"Designed by whom?"
"Your father."
I shook my head.
"No."
"He wasn't trying to create a weapon."
"Then what?"
"He was trying to create a cure."
Six hours later, the hospital went into lockdown.
Not because of a medical emergency.
Because someone had tried to enter the neonatal ward.
The intruder had credentials.
A doctor's badge.
A security clearance.
And a keycard issued by the hospital itself.
The camera footage showed a man walking directly toward my daughter's room.
He stopped outside.
Looked into the camera.
And smiled.
Then he removed his mask.
I recognized him.
Ethan.
My husband.
My daughter's father.
Or the man I thought was.
I stared at the screen.
"Why is he here?"
Luka stood beside me.
"He wants the baby."
"Why?"
"Because he knows what she is."
My voice cracked.
"How?"
Luka didn't answer.
I turned toward him.
"You knew Ethan was involved."
"No."
"You knew he was connected to M-17."
"No."
"Then how did he know about my daughter?"
Luka's expression hardened.
"Because someone told him."
"Who?"
A nurse rushed into the room.
"Mr. Moretti."
Luka turned.
"What?"
"There's a problem."
"What?"
"The baby's blood sample is missing."
My stomach dropped.
"What?"
"The sample from this morning."
"Who took it?"
"We don't know."
Luka looked at me.
Then at the security footage.
Then at the locked door.
His face became terrifyingly calm.
"Find the laboratory technician."
The nurse nodded.
"And find Dr. Voss."
She ran.
I looked at Luka.
"What's happening?"
He took my hand.
"We're leaving."
"Where?"
"Somewhere they can't reach her."
"Where?"
"My home."
I hesitated.
"You live alone?"
"Yes."
"Then why should I trust you?"
He looked directly into my eyes.
"Because your father trusted me."
"That's not enough."
"No."
He stepped closer.
"Then trust me because I have spent six years keeping one promise."
"What promise?"
"That if they ever came for you, I would be there first."
We left through the underground parking garage.
Luka's car was black.
Armored.
The moment the doors closed, I realized how surreal my life had become.
Yesterday I was a married woman.
Today I was hiding from my husband with a newborn while a tattooed stranger drove us through a city that suddenly felt dangerous.
My daughter slept in the back seat.
I watched her through the mirror.
"Tell me something."
Luka glanced at me.
"Anything."
"Why did my father choose you?"
"Because I owed him."
"Why?"
"Because he saved my life."
"When?"
"Eleven years ago."
"What happened?"
Luka's hands tightened around the steering wheel.
"I was one of the children."
I stared at him.
"What?"
"I was born under M-17."
Silence filled the car.
"You're one of the seventeen?"
"No."
He looked at me.
"I'm M-17."
I couldn't breathe.
The project wasn't simply named M-17.
Luka was the original subject.
The first child.
The one everything had been built around.
"That's impossible."
"I wish it were."
"How old are you?"
"Thirty."
"But you said—"
"They started before I was born."
I stared at his tattoos.
"Are those from the project?"
His eyes dropped briefly to his hands.
"Some."
"What do they mean?"
"Names."
"Whose names?"
"The children who didn't survive."
I looked away.
My daughter began crying.
Luka immediately slowed.
"She's hungry."
"I know."
He pulled into a quiet parking lot.
I turned toward the back seat.
Before I could unbuckle her, Luka said:
"Elena."
I looked at him.
"There's something else."
"What?"
"Your daughter isn't the only reason they're coming."
My stomach tightened.
"What else could they want?"
Luka reached into the glove compartment.
He removed a photograph.
I took it.
It showed three people.
My father.
A younger Luka.
And a woman holding a baby.
I stared at the woman.
I knew her.
My mother.
The photograph had been taken before I was born.
But the baby in her arms wasn't me.
It was another child.
A little boy.
On the back of the photograph, one sentence had been written.
THE FIRST CHILD FAILED. THE SECOND CHILD SURVIVED. THE THIRD CHILD MUST NEVER BE FOUND.
I looked at Luka.
"What does this mean?"
He didn't answer.
"Who was the first child?"
He looked at my daughter.
"Me."
"And the second?"
He swallowed.
"You."
My blood turned cold.
I looked at the photograph again.
"And the third?"
Luka's face became completely expressionless.
"We don't know."
My daughter stopped crying.
The car fell silent.
Then Luka's phone rang.
He answered.
"Yes?"
He listened.
His eyes slowly lifted toward me.
"What happened?"
A voice spoke on the other end.
Luka's face changed.
"Say that again."
He listened.
Then:
"You're certain?"
He hung up.
I knew from his expression that something terrible had happened.
"What?"
He looked at me.
"The hospital found another birth record."
"Whose?"
Luka didn't answer.
"Whose record?"
He looked toward my daughter.
Then back at me.
"Yours."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
"Your original birth record."
"Where?"
"In the hospital archive."
"What's wrong with it?"
Luka's voice became barely audible.
"Your mother gave birth to twins."
I couldn't move.
"Twins?"
He nodded.
"One was registered as Elena Grace Carter."
I stared at him.
"And the other?"
Luka looked away.
"The other child was listed as deceased."
I felt the world disappear.
"Was it?"
He didn't answer.
"Luka."
He looked at me.
"No."
"What?"
"The baby wasn't dead."
My daughter began crying again.
And this time, neither of us moved.
Because somewhere in the hospital archives was proof that I had once had a twin.
A sister who had supposedly died at birth.
A sister whose existence had been erased.
A sister whose name appeared beside a single code.
M-17.
And suddenly I understood why my father had spent his entire life protecting me.
He hadn't only been hiding a scientific experiment.
He had been hiding a person.
Someone who was still alive.
Someone who had been searching for us.
And if Luka was right...
May you like
She had finally found my daughter.
Or she had been looking for me all along.
