Dr. Wright’s hand tightened around the clipboard until the paper bent.
“He left that night?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“And you never heard from him again?”
“No.”
The doctor turned away, pressing one hand over his mouth.
Joanna suddenly felt cold.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Dr. Wright looked toward the nurse. “Could you give us a moment?”
The nurse’s expression softened with worry. “Doctor—”
“Please.”
She placed the baby gently in Joanna’s arms before leaving. The moment Joanna felt the warm weight of her son against her chest, something fierce rose inside her. Whatever secret had just entered this room, it would not touch him without going through her first.
Dr. Wright moved to the window. Snow tapped lightly against the glass.
“For twenty-eight years,” he said, “I believed my youngest son was dead.”
Joanna stared.
“My wife, Eleanor, gave birth to twins. Nathan and Lucas.” He swallowed hard. “Lucas was born with that same crescent mark on his shoulder. The same shape. The same place.”
The baby stirred against Joanna’s chest.
“Three days after they were born, Lucas disappeared from the hospital nursery.”
Joanna’s breath caught.
Dr. Wright continued, voice barely steady. “We were told there had been a fire in a storage room near the old maternity wing. Confusion. Smoke. Evacuation. A nurse later claimed Lucas had gone into distress and died before anyone could save him.” He laughed once, bitter and broken. “They showed us ashes in a tiny urn. My wife never recovered.”
Joanna whispered, “What does that have to do with Logan?”
Dr. Wright turned back.
“Because eight months ago, I saw Logan for the first time.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“He came into this hospital after a car accident,” the doctor said. “Minor injuries. A fractured wrist. I wasn’t his assigned physician, but I passed his room and saw his chart. Logan Wright. Same last name. I thought it was a coincidence. Then I saw him.”
His eyes filled again.
“He looked like Nathan. Like me. Like the baby I buried.”
Joanna tightened her arms around her son.
“I tried to speak with him,” Dr. Wright said. “He panicked. He said I had the wrong person. But when he turned to leave, his shirt shifted.” His voice lowered. “I saw the crescent mark.”
Joanna’s heart pounded so hard she felt it in her throat.
“You’re saying Logan is your missing son?”
“I believe so.”
“No,” Joanna said, because the truth was too large, too cruel, too impossible. “No, Logan would have told me.”
Dr. Wright’s face changed.
“He may not have known.”
Joanna looked down at her son’s tiny face. The baby’s eyes were closed now, his cheek pressed to her skin, trusting her without question.
Dr. Wright walked to the cabinet and pulled out a chair, sitting as if his legs had finally given out.
“After Logan ran from the hospital, I hired a private investigator. Quietly. I didn’t tell anyone, not even my wife. I was afraid to hope.” His voice became rough. “The investigator found sealed adoption records. Logan was raised by a woman named Marlene Price in Cedar Hollow. But the records were false. Dates changed. Signatures forged.”
Joanna whispered, “Marlene told Logan his parents abandoned him.”
Dr. Wright flinched like he had been struck.
“She told him what?”
“She said his mother left him in a church hallway. That no one wanted him.” Joanna’s voice broke. “He believed that his whole life.”
For the first time, anger overtook the doctor’s grief.
“My wife held that child for three days,” he said. “She sang to him. She slept with his blanket against her face for years after he was gone. She did not abandon him.”
The baby made a soft sound.
Joanna kissed his forehead.
“Then why would Logan leave me?” she whispered. “Why disappear when I told him I was pregnant?”
Dr. Wright did not answer immediately.
Then he reached into his coat pocket and took out a folded envelope. It was worn from being opened too many times.
“I received this six months ago.”
He handed it to Joanna.
Her fingers shook as she unfolded the paper.