Page 63 of The Other Mother
Claire,
If you're reading this, they probably killed me. But Eva is safe with you, and that gives me peace. I know you didn't choose this, just like I didn't choose to lose my daughter. But now we both have a choice about what happens next.
Don't let them win.
The evidence in this box will destroy the network, but only if someone with access to the inside takes it to the right people. Your husband was part of this and the other criminals are still out there, still stealing babies, still destroying families.
Eva was stolen from me, but I want her to stay with you. You're her mother now in every way that matters. But please, make sure no other mother has to suffer what I suffered.
Love her enough to fight for all of us.
Mara
I read the letter twice, tears blurring the words. Eva makes soft sleeping sounds against my chest, completely unaware that her birth mother wrote her a blessing from beyond the grave.
The rest of the box contains a victim list with forty-seven names, financial records showing bank transfers totaling over seven million dollars, and a small recording device. Maria shows me how to work it, and I listen to Ava Pierce's voice arranging what she calls "placements" like she's talking about furniture instead of human beings.
"We need help," I say, closing the box. "This is too big for us to handle alone."
"I already thought of that." Maria pulls out a burner phone. "You used to work in publishing, right? You know people in media?”
I think of my old colleague Jessica Towler, who left the publishing world to become an investigative journalist. We haven't spoken in two years, but she always said if I ever had a story worth telling, she'd listen. Jessica had made a name for herself exposing corruption in small towns—the kind of stories the big papers ignored. If anyone would believe what I'm about to tell her, it's Jess.
"Maybe. But I can't call from my phone. Adam might be tracking it."
"Use this." Maria hands me the burner.
My hands shakeas I dial Jessica's number from memory. What if she doesn't answer? What if she thinks I've lost my mind? The weight of everything I've discovered feelscrushing—the altered medical records, the missing babies, Adam's lies. But I have to try.
My heart pounds as the phone rings. How do you even begin a conversation like this? How do you tell someone that there's a network of people stealing newborns, telling devastated mothers their babies died during delivery, then selling those same children to wealthy clients? The words sound insane even in my own head. But I've seen the evidence, and I can't unknow what I know now.
Jessica answers on the third ring, her voice groggy with sleep. "Who is this?"
"Jess, it's Claire Matthews. I know it's late, but I have a story you need to hear."
"Claire? Jesus, what time is it? And why are you calling from a blocked number?"
"Because my husband might be monitoring my phone. Jess, I've stumbled onto something huge. A baby trafficking network operating out of hospitals in the Coachella Valley. Dozens of children stolen from their mothers and sold to wealthy families."
The line goes quiet for so long I think she's hung up. Then, "Are you somewhere safe?"
"I'm in a cemetery at midnight with a teenage girl whose baby was trafficked internationally. Safe is relative."
"Claire, this sounds ... " Jessica pauses, and I can hear her journalist instincts kicking in. "This sounds like a front-page story. But I need corroboration. Hospitalrecords, financial documents, testimony from multiple victims."
"I have all of that. But Jess, if this goes public too fast, people are going to disappear. Evidence is going to be destroyed. We need to move carefully."
"How long do you need?"
I look at Maria, who holds up three fingers. "Seventy-two hours. Three days to gather everything we need for an airtight case."
"Done. But Claire, if anything happens to you, if you disappear or get arrested or whatever, I'm publishing everything immediately. No waiting. The story goes live within an hour.”
After I hang up,Maria and I stand in the cemetery silence, both of us processing what we've just set in motion. Eva has woken up and is making soft cooing sounds, her tiny hand reaching up to touch my face.
"You have a choice to make," Maria says finally. "You can take Eva and run. Leave tonight, disappear, let Jessica and me handle the legal stuff. Eva will be safe, and you'll never have to face the consequences of what Adam did."
I know she's right. I could be in Mexico by morning, start a new life with Eva under new names. But I think about the forty-seven names on Mara's list, about Teresa Valdez who held her breathing baby for ten minutesbefore being told she was dead, about all the mothers who are still out there grieving children who are alive and well and calling other women mama.
