Chapter 4
The charge nurse explained what Margaret had almost accomplished.
Not a permanent baby switch.
Something simpler.
A spectacle.
Remove my son’s identification band.
Place another newborn’s band near him.
Cover his skin with pigment.
Then create enough confusion before I arrived that questions would become suspicions.
The hospital would correct the mistake quickly.
Margaret did not need the lie to survive forever.
Only long enough to enter my head.
That was what frightened me most.
She knew me.
She knew a seed of doubt planted during panic could become difficult to remove even after facts arrived.
Emma looked at me.
“Would you have believed her?”
The question hurt because it deserved an answer.
“I don’t know.”
Margaret smiled faintly.
Emma saw it.
So did I.
I continued.
“And that is my failure, not proof she was right.”
My mother’s smile disappeared.
I looked at my wife.
“I should be able to say no without thinking. But my family spent my whole life teaching me that betrayal always comes from whoever stands closest.”
Emma’s eyes filled.
“I understand.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You shouldn’t have to understand.”
That distinction mattered.
Margaret interrupted.
“Beautiful speech.”
I looked at her.
“You still haven’t explained why you needed me to doubt him.”
She stared at the newborn.
For the first time, something softer crossed her face.
Possessive.
That was worse.
“He should be raised Moretti.”
“He is Moretti.”
“With her?”
I stood.
Emma flinched.
Not because of me.
Because Margaret pointed toward her like she was contamination.
My mother continued.
“Look what happened after you married. You closed the south room. You removed three old captains. You stopped family discipline inside the estate. You refuse council marriages.”
I almost laughed.
“Those were my decisions.”
“She encouraged them.”
“Yes.”
Margaret looked genuinely furious.
“She made you ashamed of your own blood.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“She made me stop using blood as an excuse.”
The room went silent.
Then Emma whispered something.
“Adrian.”
I turned.
She was looking at Margaret’s handbag.
A corner of blue fabric was sticking out.
The nurse recognized it immediately.
“That’s a newborn blanket.”
My mother grabbed the bag.
Too late.
One of my men took it from her.
Inside was a second hospital blanket.
May you like
And sewn into one corner was a Moretti family crest.
My mother had already prepared the blanket she intended to wrap my son in after separating him from Emma.
