Chapter 6 - THE EMPTY BASSINET
I ran upstairs.
“Hannah!”
She was already in the nursery.
The window stood open.
Cold air moved through the curtains.
The bassinet was empty.
For one second, neither of us understood what we were seeing.
Then Hannah screamed.
“Owen!”
I searched the room, the hallway and every closet as though our newborn son might somehow be hiding.
The back door was unlocked.
One of the new cameras had been disconnected.
I called the police while Hannah collapsed against the nursery wall.
Detective Ruiz arrived within minutes.
Officers searched the property.
A canine unit followed a scent from the back door toward the alley, where the trail disappeared near tire tracks.
Patricia had taken him.
I knew it before anyone said it aloud.
She had spent days telling herself she was protecting Owen.
Now she believed she had nothing left to lose.
An emergency alert was issued.
Police searched airports, stations, hotels and highways.
Claire gave them the names of every friend and relative Patricia might contact.
Hours passed.
No Owen.
Hannah sat at the kitchen table clutching his blanket.
“This is my fault.”
“No.”
“I should have seen her.”
“You were asleep.”
“I’m his mother.”
“And I’m his father. This is Patricia’s fault. Only hers.”
The words did nothing to ease her pain.
At 4:20 in the morning, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered immediately.
My mother’s voice whispered, “Tell the police to stop looking.”
“Where is Owen?”
“He’s safe.”
“Let me hear him.”
A baby cried in the background.
My knees nearly gave out.
“Hannah needs him.”
“Hannah almost killed him.”
“You know that isn’t true.”
“She turned you against me.”
“No, Mom. You did that yourself.”
Silence.
Then Patricia’s voice hardened.
“I gave you everything.”
“You stole from me.”
“I raised you!”
“You hurt my wife.”
“I protected my family.”
“You kidnapped my son.”
“He is my grandson.”
“He is not yours.”
The crying became louder.
I heard a metallic sound in the background.
Then a distant horn.
Detective Ruiz, listening through another phone, wrote something on a notepad.
TRAIN.
Patricia was near railway tracks.
“I want to meet you,” she said.
“Where?”
“Alone.”
She gave me an address.
An abandoned farmhouse owned by one of her cousins.
Police surrounded the area before sunrise.
Ruiz wanted me to remain in the command vehicle.
I refused.
“If she sees police before she sees me, she might panic.”
He reluctantly agreed to let me approach with a concealed microphone while tactical officers waited nearby.
The farmhouse looked half-collapsed.
One window glowed with weak yellow light.
I entered through the front door.
Patricia sat in a rocking chair holding Owen.
A packed suitcase rested beside her.
My son was wrapped in a coat.
His face was red from crying.
“Give him to me.”
Patricia smiled sadly.
“You used to look at me that way.”
“What way?”
“Like I was the only person in the world who could save you.”
I stepped closer.
“You can still do one good thing. Hand me Owen.”
“And then what? Prison?”
“You need help.”
“I needed loyalty.”
She looked toward the window.
“I sacrificed my life for you and Claire. Your father wanted to take you away.”
“What happened the night he died?”
Her arms tightened around Owen.
“Your father made his choice.”
“Did you follow him?”
“He was leaving us.”
“Did you hit his car?”
Tears filled her eyes.
“He should have pulled over.”
The words chilled me.
“What did you do?”
“I only wanted him to stop.”
She admitted following my father during the storm.
She struck the rear of his car once.
He accelerated.
She struck it again.
His car lost control on the wet road and left the pavement.
She watched it crash.
Then she drove away, hid her damaged car at a friend’s property and returned after pretending to receive a call.
“You killed him.”
“I didn’t mean for him to die.”
Owen began screaming.
Patricia stood.
The baby slipped slightly in her arms.
I moved forward.
She stepped backward.
The floor beneath her cracked.
The farmhouse was decaying, and rotten boards covered an old cellar opening.
“Mom, don’t move.”
For the first time, she looked truly frightened.
The wood broke beneath one foot.
She lost her balance.
I lunged toward her.
Patricia threw Owen in my direction.
I caught my son against my chest as she fell through the floor.
Police rushed inside.
Patricia survived the fall with a broken leg.
Owen survived without injury.
When I carried him outside, Hannah ran past the officers and took him into her arms.
She pressed her face against his and sobbed.
Our family was together again.
May you like
But before the ambulance doors closed, Patricia looked at me and shouted one final warning.
“You think Hannah is innocent? Ask her why she was meeting your father’s attorney!”
