Chapter 6

The Past.

St. Mary’s Hospital was quiet in the early hours, the hum of fluorescent lights echoing through stark white corridors as nurses shuffled from one room to the next.

Outside, the first hints of dawn struggled against the heavy clouds, casting a pale glow through the windows.

Inside the maternity ward, Nurse Evelyn Harper leaned against the counter, fighting a wave of exhaustion.

She had been on her feet for nearly sixteen hours, her second double shift this week, and the weight of it pressed into her bones.

She closed her eyes briefly, massaging her temples. Just one more check, she thought.

One last round, and then she could rest.

The nursery lay behind a large glass window where two tiny newborns, each wrapped in soft pink blankets, slept soundly.

A little card with their names and times of birth rested on the foot of each crib.

Evelyn glanced at the chart and made her way into the nursery, her steps heavy but practiced.

She picked up the baby in the first crib, glancing at the name tag: Sarah Caldwell, 7 pounds, 2 ounces.

Evelyn shifted the baby in her arms, cradling her close, and walked down the hall. She passed rooms 306 and 307, searching for the number she needed. Room 305, Eleanor Caldwell.

She eased the door open, where Eleanor lay resting against her hospital bed. Despite her tired appearance, there was a soft radiance to her, a quiet, content glow that only a new mother wore.

“Here she is,” Evelyn whispered, gently placing the baby into Eleanor’s waiting arms.

Eleanor’s face softened as she looked down, running a delicate hand across the soft cheeks of the tiny bundle before her.

Evelyn managed a tired smile, taking a final glance at the mother and child before slipping back into the hallway.

In the nursery, the second baby stirred softly, a little cry escaping her lips.

Evelyn sighed, her head spinning slightly as she picked up the second baby. This was Victoria Miller, 7 pounds, 4 ounces. She took a breath and focused. Just one more delivery.

When she reached Room 312, she found Mary Miller already awake, eyes bright despite the shadows under them.

Mary’s hands trembled as she held out her arms, her gaze fixed on the baby like she was witnessing a miracle.

“Oh, she’s beautiful,” Mary murmured, her voice thick with emotion as she took the baby into her arms. “Thank you.”

Evelyn smiled again, though the edges of her vision were blurred now, her thoughts a foggy haze. “Congratulations,” she said softly. “You have a beautiful daughter.”

With the babies in their mothers' arms, Evelyn returned to the nursery to complete her notes.

She wrote down times, checked off boxes, her pen moving automatically across the clipboard. Finally, she turned to the window where the remaining cribs lay empty, a strange sense of accomplishment warming her tired heart.

But something nagged at her, pulling her attention back to the names on the forms. She blinked, and for a brief moment, her heart jolted with unease.

The names, had she double checked the tags on those name cards?

The thought was there, quick and sharp, but she pushed it aside, too weary to give it a second thought.

She placed the clipboard down, turning off the nursery lights, and shuffled out of the ward to begin her break.

In Room 305, Eleanor Caldwell hummed softly to the baby she believed was her daughter, her eyes filled with dreams of a future she was certain lay before them. And in Room 312, Mary Miller held her little one close, whispering words of love as the dawn finally broke.

Neither mother noticed the subtle mistake that had just unfolded, a mistake as small as a slip of paper but large enough to reshape two entire lives.

They would leave the hospital that week, each carrying home a child they would raise, nurture, and love.

A child who was, in their hearts, their own.

And as the hospital bustled to life with the morning rounds, Evelyn Harper’s quiet mistake settled into the shadows, marking the beginning of a journey that neither family could possibly imagine.

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The air in the mountains was crisp and clean, filled with the earthy scent of pine and wildflowers.

This was Sarah’s playground, the wide open countryside that stretched endlessly in every direction, bound only by rugged mountain peaks that framed her world like giant, watchful guardians.

Sarah was twelve when she first took the wheel of the family’s old, rust speckled pickup truck, her feet barely reaching the pedals.

Her father, James, sat beside her, his weathered hands hovering close by, ready to steady the wheel if needed.

The truck rumbled as it crawled forward, the engine rattling in protest against the steep mountain road.

“You’re doing just fine, honey,” he encouraged, his voice steady. His smile was wide, the kind of smile that always made her feel invincible, as if no road was too rough for them to conquer together.

Sarah’s hands clung tightly to the wheel, her heart pounding in her chest.

She glanced over at her father, the thrill of the challenge shimmering in her eyes.

“Dad, I think I got it!” she exclaimed, pressing her foot lightly on the gas pedal.

James chuckled. “Good. Keep it steady now, you’re driving the lifeline of the mountain, remember?”

He was right. The truck was filled to the brim with crates of vegetables, eggs, and jars of preserves they’d carefully packed that morning.

It was their way of life, these deliveries. Every few days, Sarah and her father would take the road winding through the mountains, supplying nearby villages with their fresh goods, swapping food and laughter with people who had grown to know them as friends.

The roads were rough, winding treacherously around sharp cliffs and hairpin turns. But to Sarah, these roads were like an old friend, each bump and bend a familiar part of the journey she loved.

When they reached the final village stop, James hopped out, and Sarah watched him greet the customers with his characteristic warmth, shaking hands and laughing as they unloaded the goods.

Sarah followed, carrying jars of preserves and baskets of vegetables to waiting families.

The gratitude in their eyes made every effort feel worthwhile, every long day a little easier.

They weren’t just customers to her family, they were neighbors, friends who welcomed the Millers’ small bounty as part of their own lives.

When the deliveries were done, Sarah climbed back into the driver’s seat, feeling the weight of the empty crates in the back.