Chapter 3 - The Search for Emily
The penthouse door slammed behind me, but Tessa’s toxic laughter seemed to follow me down the elevator shaft and into the underground parking garage.
My chest was tight, burning with a suffocating panic. Triplet babies. Emily had given birth to triplets. I had seen two of them in her arms on that dusty roadside outside Franklin, tiny faces hidden beneath pale blue caps.
Where was the third? Was it sick? Was it adopted out without my consent? Or worse—did Tessa’s cruelty reach even further than I could possibly imagine?
I didn't go home. I couldn't. I got back into my SUV, dialed Marcus’s direct line, and hit the speakerphone as I tore out of the garage.
"Marcus," I barked the moment he answered. "I need you to pull every regional hospital birth registry in Davidson, Williamson, and Rutherford counties for the exact date Emily gave birth. Cross-reference it with infant admissions, social services records, and private adoption agency filings."
"Rowan, it’s midnight," Marcus groaned on the other end. "State health databases are locked down—"
"I don't care if you have to hack the mainframe or wake up a federal judge with a midnight subpoena," I roared, my hands gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles popped. "Emily had triplets. Not twins. Triplets. And Tessa knows where the third child is."
There was a heavy, stunned silence on the line.
"Triplets?" Marcus whispered. "Jesus Christ... Boss, I’m on it. Give me two hours."
I hung up and pointed my vehicle south toward Franklin. I didn't know where Emily lived. I didn't know if she was crashing in a motel, sleeping in her car, or renting a run-down room above a hardware store. But I knew the stretch of highway where I had seen her. I knew the radius of small towns surrounding that desolate stretch of asphalt.
For three hours, I drove up and down country roads, my high beams cutting through the heavy Tennessee fog. The world was asleep. Houses were dark; roadside diners were locked up tight.
By 4:00 AM, I found myself parked on the gravel shoulder outside a fading, single-story laundromat on the edge of a sleepy rural town twenty miles outside Franklin. A flickering neon sign buzzed overhead, casting a sickly pink glow over a weathered park bench.
And there she was.
Emily sat huddled on the wooden bench, wearing the same faded jeans and plain gray T-shirt. One of the twins was strapped securely against her chest in a worn canvas sling, while a small, battery-operated portable fan sat beside her on the bench, gently circulating cool air over the sleeping infant. Her eyes were closed, her head resting back against the brick wall. Dark circles stained the skin beneath her eyes. She looked like a woman who hadn't slept a full night in months.
I killed the engine, stepped quietly out of the SUV, and walked across the gravel. The crunch of my shoes made her eyes snap open instantly.
Fear flashed across her face—a raw, defensive terror that made my heart shatter all over again. She instinctively wrapped her arms around the baby, shrinking back against the wall.
"Emily," I whispered, stopping ten feet away. "Don't be afraid. It's just me."
She blinked, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she recognized my face in the dim neon light. The fear didn't vanish; it transformed into a deep, bone-weary exhaustion.
"Rowan," she said, her voice barely louder than the hum of the neon sign. "What are you doing here? Did Tessa send you to finish the job?"
"No," I choked out, taking a slow step forward, holding my hands up palms-up to show I meant no harm. "Tessa is gone. I know everything, Emily. I know about the setup. I know about the forged bank records, the planted necklace, the fake hotel logs. I know it was all a lie."
Emily didn't cry. She didn't scream. She just looked at me with that same heartbreaking pity that had destroyed me on the highway.
"It took you a year to figure that out," she whispered, a bitter, humorless smile touching the corner of her lips. "A whole year. While I was evicted, humiliated, dragged through the mud, and forced to give birth to our children on a cot in a county health clinic."
"I was blind, Em," I said, my voice breaking as hot tears finally spilled over my lashes. I dropped to my knees right there on the dusty gravel, ignoring the sharp stones biting into my skin. "I was arrogant and angry, and I let her poison me. I am so sorry. God help me, I am so sorry."
Emily looked down at me, her expression softening just a fraction. But the pain in her eyes ran deeper than any apology could ever reach.
"You're too late, Rowan," she murmured, shaking her head.
"I'm not too late," I pleaded, reaching out slowly to rest my fingertips against the edge of her worn sneaker. "I have my lawyers drafting the paperwork to seize every asset Tessa stole. We can fix this. You and the babies—we can go home."
Emily let out a sharp, breathless laugh that sounded like glass breaking.
"Home?" she asked, her voice cracking. "Which home, Rowan? The one where you threw my clothes out onto the front lawn while neighbors watched? The one where your new fiancée had locks changed before the ink on our divorce decree was even dry?"
She shifted slightly, pulling back the edge of her canvas bag. I looked down, and my breath caught in my throat.
There weren't two babies sleeping against her chest.
There was one twin in the sling. And beside her on the bench, wrapped in a clean white blanket, lay a second infant—sleeping peacefully.
"That's two," I whispered, my voice trembling. "Where is the third?"
Emily closed her eyes, a single tear finally slipping down her cheek, cutting a clean path through the dust on her face.
"That's what you came here to ask about, isn't it?" she whispered. "Not just to apologize. You found the note in the investigator's file."
May you like
I froze. "What note?"
"The one Tessa didn't want you to see," Emily said, opening her eyes to look straight into my soul. "The one that explains why our third child isn't here with us."
