Chapter 2 - THE NECKLACE MY MOTHER LEFT ME
“Victoria, your baby's heart rate is dropping. I need you to put that phone down.”
Nurse Denise reached for my hand, but I couldn't stop staring at the woman kissing my husband on the screen.
Khloe Montgomery was wearing my mother's emerald necklace.
Not something similar.
Not a reproduction.
The exact necklace my mother had worn on her wedding day, the one she'd left me before cancer took her six years earlier.
I recognized the tiny gold clasp shaped like a leaf.
I'd held that clasp between my fingers the night we buried her.
And now it was resting against the throat of the woman who had apparently given my husband a son.
“Mrs. Vance?”
Denise's voice grew firmer.
“Look at me.”
I finally lifted my eyes.
“The baby's heart rate?”
“We're making some adjustments. I need you on your left side.”
Another nurse entered.
My obstetrician, Dr. Rachel Morgan, followed seconds later.
She studied the monitor.
“Victoria, Baby B isn't recovering as quickly as I'd like.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“What does that mean?”
“It means we're preparing for a possible emergency C-section.”
The livestream was still playing.
Eleanor's voice floated through the phone.
“Family is everything.”
I almost laughed.
Instead, I turned off the screen.
“Do whatever you need to do,” I told Dr. Morgan. “Just save my daughters.”
The next twenty minutes passed in fragments.
A consent form.
An anesthesiologist.
Denise removing my jewelry.
A nurse asking whether anyone should be contacted.
“My husband,” I started.
Then I stopped.
He was celebrating his other child's birthday.
“Call my friend Rebecca Collins.”
Rebecca had been my closest friend since college. She was also the only person who had repeatedly warned me that Julian's family treated my marriage like a business arrangement.
I hadn't listened.
Now I wanted her beside me more than anyone.
Denise made the call.
As they prepared to move me, my phone vibrated.
A message from Julian.
You embarrassed me calling repeatedly. We'll discuss your behavior tomorrow.
I read it twice.
Then I took a screenshot.
Not because I knew what I would eventually do with it.
Because I suddenly understood that I needed to remember exactly who my husband had been when our children needed him.
At 9:26 p.m., Dr. Morgan delivered our first daughter.
“Baby A is here.”
A cry filled the operating room.
Strong.
Angry.
Beautiful.
I began crying before anyone showed me her face.
“She's doing well,” the doctor said.
Then the atmosphere changed.
Someone asked for additional assistance.
I heard the words “heart rate” again.
Another minute passed.
Then another.
I stared at the ceiling, trying not to imagine what silence might mean.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please.”
At 9:29, our second daughter was born.
But she didn't cry immediately.
A neonatal team moved around her.
I heard equipment shifting.
Quiet instructions.
My entire world narrowed to the space behind a blue surgical drape.
Then came a small, uneven cry.
I sobbed.
“She's breathing,” someone said.
Dr. Morgan leaned toward me.
“Your second daughter needs some help adjusting. We're taking her to the NICU for monitoring.”
“Can I see her?”
A nurse brought her close enough for me to glimpse a tiny face beneath a pink cap.
She looked impossibly small.
Her fingers opened once.
Then she was gone.
I named them Amelia Rose and Charlotte Grace.
Rose had been my mother's middle name.
Grace was the word my mother used whenever life demanded more courage than she thought she possessed.
I had imagined Julian standing beside me when we chose those names.
Instead, Rebecca arrived at 10:40 p.m., still wearing her rain-soaked trench coat.
She took one look at me and started crying.
“I'm here,” she said.
I reached for her hand.
“Charlotte's in the NICU.”
“I know. Denise explained.”
“Amelia's okay.”
“That's wonderful.”
Then Rebecca noticed my expression.
“Victoria, what happened?”
I handed her my phone.
She watched the video without speaking.
When Eleanor introduced Khloe as her daughter-in-law, Rebecca stopped it.
“No.”
I nodded.
When she saw the little boy, she pressed her fingers against her mouth.
But when I pointed at the necklace, her face changed completely.
“Victoria, that's impossible.”
“Why?”
Rebecca lowered her voice.
“Because your mother didn't leave that necklace to Julian.”
“I know.”
“She didn't leave it to his family either.”
“I know that too.”
Rebecca sat beside my bed.
“Three months ago, you told me Eleanor was helping you have it cleaned.”
I remembered.
Eleanor had visited our apartment while I was struggling with severe morning sickness.
She'd noticed the emerald necklace in my jewelry box.
“Such a beautiful heirloom,” she'd said. “You shouldn't let it sit in a drawer.”
She offered to take it to a specialist.
Julian later told me it had been placed in a secure family vault while the clasp was repaired.
Every time I asked about it, he said his mother was handling everything.
I'd trusted him.
Rebecca replayed the video.
Khloe touched the necklace while Julian leaned toward her.
Then she smiled directly at the camera.
It wasn't an accidental gesture.
She was displaying it.
“She knows whose necklace that is,” Rebecca said.
Before I could answer, my phone began ringing.
Julian.
I stared at his name.
Rebecca looked at me.
“Don't answer unless you want to.”
I answered.
“What?”
His voice sounded different now.
Nervous.
“Victoria, where are you?”
“The hospital.”
“Why didn't you tell me it was serious?”
I closed my eyes.
“I told you our daughter's heart rate was falling.”
“You didn't explain it was an emergency.”
“You hung up on me.”
Silence.
Then he asked, “Have the babies been born?”
“Yes.”
“Are they okay?”
“One is in intensive care.”
He exhaled sharply.
“I'll come immediately.”
“No.”
“Victoria, don't start.”
“Don't start what, Julian? Giving birth without you? Watching you celebrate another family?”
His breathing changed.
“What are you talking about?”
“I watched your mother's livestream.”
The silence that followed told me more than any confession.
Finally, Julian whispered, “You weren't supposed to see that.”
Rebecca's grip tightened around my hand.
“Which part?” I asked. “The son? The mistress? Or my mother's necklace?”
“Victoria, listen carefully. There are things you don't understand.”
“Then explain them.”
“Not over the phone.”
“Why not?”
“Because you're already upset.”
I looked through the glass toward the hallway where a nurse was carrying supplies for my premature daughter.
“I'm not upset anymore, Julian.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you should call your lawyer before you come here.”
He cursed under his breath.
Then he said something unexpected.
“Don't let anyone from my mother's office take the girls anywhere.”
My spine stiffened.
“What?”
“Just promise me.”
“Why would anyone from her office come near my babies?”
He didn't answer.
“Julian?”
A voice sounded behind him.
Eleanor.
“Has Victoria delivered yet?”
Julian covered the receiver, but not quickly enough.
I heard my mother-in-law say:
“Good. Then make sure she signs the papers before she sees what we've already done.”
The call ended.
Rebecca stared at me.
“What papers?”
I had no idea.
But at 11:17 p.m., Denise returned carrying a hospital envelope.
“Mrs. Vance, someone from your husband's family arranged for these to be delivered.”
Inside was a packet titled:
POSTPARTUM FAMILY CONSENT AND NEWBORN TRANSFER AUTHORIZATION.
Attached to the final page was a photocopy of my signature.
A signature I had never written.
And beneath it, in small print, were the names:
AMELIA ROSE VANCE.
CHARLOTTE GRACE VANCE.
Both listed for transfer to a private neonatal facility the following morning.
May you like
I looked up at Rebecca.
“Someone is trying to take my daughters.”
