Vanessa pushed baby Emma’s stroller toward the pool, then cried like Clara was the one who did it.

We drove to the prison hospital in silence.

Adrian held my hand tightly the entire way. He didn’t want me to go. He was afraid it was a trap. But I knew—somewhere deep inside—that this was real.

We were escorted to a private room. Vanessa lay in the bed, pale, bandaged, barely alive. She looked smaller than I had ever seen her.

When she saw me, she tried to smile.

“You came,” she whispered.

“I came.”

She motioned for me to come closer. Adrian stayed by the door, watching, ready to pull me away at any moment.

Vanessa took my hand. Hers was cold and weak.

“They did it,” she whispered. “Marcus’s people. They think I betrayed them. They think I talked too much.” She squeezed my hand weakly. “I’m dying, Clara. And I need to tell you one last thing. Something I never wrote down. Something no one else knows.”

“Tell me,” I said.

She took a shallow, painful breath.

“Emma’s biological mother… she’s alive.”

I froze. “What?”

Adrian stepped forward quickly. “Emma’s mother died in childbirth. You know that. You were there.”

Vanessa shook her head slowly.

“I paid the doctor. I paid the nurse. I paid everyone. I made it look like she died. But she’s alive. I sent her away. Because Adrian never would have married me if he had a wife to raise his daughter. I needed to be the mother. I needed to be everything.”

My mind reeled. “Where is she?”

Vanessa looked at me, her eyes glassy with tears.

“Find the file. In my private safe. The one I kept hidden. Everything is there. Her name. Where she lives. Everything.” She squeezed my hand harder. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I stole her baby. I stole her life. And I almost stole yours.”

Her hand went limp. The monitor beside her beeped slowly.

“Vanessa?” I leaned closer.

She opened her eyes one last time.