She Grabbed the Waitress's Arm Over a Heart-Shaped Birthmark

CHAPTER 2 - THE NAME ELEANOR BURIED

"My daughter died in a hospital nursery. That's what they told me."

The restaurant manager wanted privacy. Daniel wanted a doctor. The young waitress wanted answers.

Within minutes, the three of them sat in a small office near the kitchen, where the smell of butter and wine couldn't soften what had just happened.

The waitress's name was Lily Mercer.

She kept one hand pressed over the locket at her throat, as if afraid someone might take it.

Daniel stood by the door, pale and restless. He had barely spoken since blurting out that name. Eleanor sat forward in her chair, pearl necklace trembling against her silk blouse.

"I need you to tell me where you got that locket," she said.

Lily swallowed. "My mother gave it to me. Well, the woman who raised me. She said I came with it."

Eleanor closed her eyes.

Came with it.

Not born with it. Came with it.

Twenty-three years earlier, Eleanor had given birth to a baby girl eight weeks early. The child had been tiny, fragile, and perfect. There had been a heart-shaped mark on her hand. Eleanor had held her only once before a nurse took the baby for observation.

A few hours later, they told her the baby had stopped breathing.

There had been no proper goodbye. No body to hold. Daniel had said the hospital handled everything because Eleanor was sedated and hemorrhaging. By the time she was strong enough to ask questions, grief had already sealed the room shut.

Lily's voice was unsteady. "My mother died last winter. Before she passed, she told me I was adopted privately. No paperwork. She said if anyone ever asked about the locket, I should run."

Daniel looked up sharply. "Run from who?"

Lily turned to him. "She didn't say."

Eleanor stared at her husband. "Why did you say Anna?"

His jaw tightened.

Because Anna Reed had been the maternity nurse on duty the night Eleanor's baby was taken away.

Daniel rubbed a hand over his face. "I saw her two months ago."

Eleanor went cold.

"At church," he said quietly. "And she told me she had something she should have confessed years ago."