The day after I gave birth to my twins, they were stolen from me. I spent two years searching for th…

Chapter 3 / 5

Chapter 3

The man in the wig confessed before midnight.

Linda had paid him to enter through a side door using a security guard who owed gambling debts. His job was to lure a nurse away from the maternity corridor, hide the twins in a laundry cart, and move them toward the loading dock while the hospital descended into confusion.

Linda intended to leave that evening.

By morning, she would have been on her way to Arthur’s base wearing my name.

The plan was almost identical to what had happened in my first life.

Almost.

This time, she was still in handcuffs when my children woke hungry.

The next morning, Arthur stood before hospital administrators, military police, and medical staff.

“Sarah Miller Sterling is my lawful wife,” he said. “These newborn twins are our children. No conflicting claim is to be entered in any record.”

Then he looked at me.

“Their names are yours to choose.”

I stared at the birth forms.

In my first life, Linda had written on them.

Not now.

I picked up the pen.

“Noah Sterling,” I whispered.

My son shifted against my arm.

“And Grace Sterling.”

My daughter’s tiny fingers curled.

Noah and Grace.

Mine.

Linda was transferred that afternoon. When officers brought her past my room, she stopped.

“I only wanted a family.”

I held Grace closer.

“You wanted mine.”

“You were alone,” she snapped. “You hadn’t even told their father. You couldn’t care for them. I could have given them a better life.”

There it was.

The truth beneath all her softness.

She had never believed she was stealing.

She believed she deserved what I had.

I looked straight into her eyes.

“You stole my children once and made them call you mother for forty years.”

Linda went still.

Nobody else understood.

She did.

Somehow, she knew those words came from somewhere beyond ordinary accusation.

“This time,” I said, “the only name they’ll know for you is prisoner.”

She screamed as officers took her away.

Three days later, Arthur moved the twins and me into a secure military medical ward near his base.

The first night, Grace began crying.

I struggled to sit up.

Pain tore through my incision.

Arthur reached her crib, then stopped with both hands hovering.

“May I?”

That question surprised me.

I nodded.

He lifted Grace as carefully as if she might break. Noah woke seconds later, and soon Arthur stood there holding one baby in each arm with an expression of pure terror.

“I need help.”

For some reason, that almost made me laugh.

I showed him how to support their heads. Noah liked warmth against his cheek. Grace hated bright lights.

Arthur listened as seriously as if I were briefing him before battle.

The next morning, he handed me a notebook.

Noah: cries higher when hungry.

Grace: becomes quiet when cold. Check immediately.

Sarah: medication at six and twelve. Pain worse after standing.

I stared at the final line.

Arthur sat opposite me.

“I thought distance was discipline,” he said. “I didn’t know it meant you would give birth alone.”

“You were absent.”