Chapter 6 - The Road to New Hampshire
The rain poured down in blinding, diagonal sheets as Nurse Clara’s rusted Subaru wagon sped north along Interstate 95 toward the New Hampshire border.
Max sat in the back seat, holding the newborn baby's swaddle tightly, his eyes fixed on the rain-streaked window.
I sat in the passenger seat, holding Clara’s leather briefcase on my lap. Inside was the smoking gun: the original physical delivery blood card stamped with my real daughter's footprint and the handwritten note detailing the birthmark on her left wrist.
Clara’s hands were shaking violently on the steering wheel, her breath coming in short, panicked ragged gasps.
"He's going to call the state police," Clara stammered, checking her rearview mirror every five seconds. "He's going to report us for kidnapping and assault!"
"Let him call them," I said, my eyes cold as steel as I looked through the medical notes inside the briefcase. "The moment the police pull us over, I hand them this blood card and demand a DNA test on the spot. Mark knows that. He won't call the police because he can't risk federal law enforcement looking at St. Margaret's Hospital."
"Where are we going?" Clara asked, her voice cracking.
I pulled a folded piece of paper from the briefcase—a transport receipt Clara had hidden in her files three days ago.
Destination: St. Jude’s Private Care Retreat, Ossipee, New Hampshire. Attending Physician: Dr. Helen Vance.
"We are going to Ossipee," I said, pointing at the address on the map. "We are getting my daughter."
Two hours later, the Subaru turned off the main highway onto a long, unpaved gravel road winding through dense, dark pine forests in rural New Hampshire.
At the end of the road stood St. Jude’s—a private, three-story brick estate surrounded by a high wrought-iron fence and security cameras mounted on tall stone pillars. It looked less like a medical facility and more like a high-security private compound for the ultra-wealthy.
Clara pulled the car over into the deep shadows of the pine trees, fifty yards from the heavy iron gate.
"How are we getting in?" Clara whispered, her eyes wide with fear. "That gate is locked code-only."
I looked down at the newborn baby sleeping in Max's arms in the backseat. Then I looked at the briefcase on my lap.
"We aren't sneaking in," I said softly, pulling Mark's master keys and his corporate ID badge from my coat pocket—items I had snatched from his office desk before we fled the house. "We're walking straight through the front door."
I turned to Clara. "Stay in the car with Max and this baby. Keep the engine running. If I'm not out in twenty minutes, drive straight to the nearest state police barracks and hand them this briefcase."
"Mommy, don't go!" Max cried out from the backseat, reaching forward to grab my coat. "It's dangerous!"
I turned around, leaning over the seat, and took my five-year-old son's face in my hands.
"Max," I whispered, kissing his forehead softly. "You were the bravest boy in the world. You saved your sister's life because you spoke the truth when no one believed you. Now it's Mommy's turn to bring her home."
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Max looked at me, wiped his nose with his sleeve, and nodded bravely. "I'll protect this baby until you come back."
I opened the car door, pulled my coat collar up against the freezing rain, and walked straight toward the heavy iron gates of the compound, holding Mark's corporate ID badge in my hand.
