PART 2
Inside the box was a photograph of a little boy.
He couldn’t have been older than six.
He had dark brown eyes, messy hair, and a familiar crooked smile.
My smile.
Beneath the photograph lay a letter.
“Dear Lucas, if you’re reading this, I’m probably making the angels laugh by now.”
My hands trembled.
“I know you thought our wedding was just my final wish. But there’s something I couldn’t tell you while I was alive.”
I looked at Alicia’s sister, Emma.
“Who is this child?”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Keep reading.”
I unfolded the second page.
“Seven years ago, my mother worked as a housekeeper for a wealthy family. One night, she witnessed something terrible. A newborn baby was taken from the hospital where she worked.”
My stomach tightened.
Alicia continued.
“Mom kept records. Names, dates, photographs. Before she died, she told me the child belonged to a young medical student named Lucas.”
I stopped breathing.
Seven years earlier, my college girlfriend, Hannah, had given birth prematurely.
The hospital told us our son hadn’t survived.
I remembered holding Hannah while she screamed.
We never saw his body.
“That’s impossible,” I whispered.
Emma gently touched my shoulder.
“Alicia found him.”
I stared at her.
“Found who?”
“Your son.”
My knees nearly buckled.
“He’s alive?”
Emma nodded.
“His name is Noah. He’s living with a family outside Boston.”
I looked back at the letter.
“I wanted to tell you sooner, Lucas. But the people who took him are powerful. They threatened my family when I started asking questions.”
My heart hammered.
“Why marry me?”
Emma handed me another envelope.
“Because Alicia wanted to make sure you received everything she’d discovered.”
Inside were hospital records, adoption documents, and a photograph of a man standing beside baby Noah.
I recognized him instantly.
Dr. Richard Hale.
The hospital director who had personally informed me of my son’s death.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man’s voice spoke quietly.
“Dr. Lucas, congratulations on your marriage.”
My blood turned cold.
“Who is this?”
“You’ve opened Alicia’s box, haven’t you?”
Before I could respond, he whispered:
“Your son is alive. But Alicia wasn’t dying from the illness you were treating.”
I gripped the phone.
“Then what killed her?”
The man paused.
“Ask Dr. Hale what he put in her final injection.”
read the entire P
I married my patient knowing she had only three days left to live — after her funeral, her sister walked up to me with a box and said, “She asked me to give you this only after she was gone.”
