Chapter 3 - THE SIGNATURE I NEVER GAVE
“Do not let anyone move my babies.”
I said it so loudly that Nurse Denise stopped halfway through closing the door.
Rebecca was already standing.
“Who authorized this transfer?”
Denise looked at the papers.
Her expression tightened.
“I haven't seen these before.”
“Are they legitimate?”
“I can't tell you that. But I can tell you no transfer is happening without the medical team reviewing it.”
I held the page containing my supposed signature.
The letters were almost perfect.
Almost.
My mother had taught me to write my name with a long, distinctive stroke beneath the final letter.
This signature lacked that stroke.
And there was something worse.
It said Victoria Vance.
For business and legal matters, I had continued using Victoria Sterling, my maiden name, throughout my marriage.
Julian hated it.
He called it stubbornness.
I called it keeping a piece of myself.
I had never signed an important document as Victoria Vance.
Not once.
“This is forged,” I told Denise.
She immediately contacted the charge nurse and hospital security.
Within fifteen minutes, my daughters' records were flagged against unauthorized release or transfer.
Only approved hospital staff could move them for medical reasons.
Rebecca stayed beside me while an administrator took copies of the papers.
I expected relief.
Instead, I felt something colder.
Whoever had prepared those documents knew the names I'd chosen.
Amelia Rose.
Charlotte Grace.
Names I had spoken aloud less than two hours earlier.
“How did Eleanor know?” I whispered.
Rebecca looked toward the door.
“Know what?”
“Their names.”
We had considered several combinations during pregnancy, but I'd chosen the final names in the operating room.
Neither Eleanor nor Julian had been there.
Then I remembered.
Three weeks earlier, Eleanor had asked for a list of possible names.
She claimed she wanted to commission embroidered blankets.
I'd included Amelia Rose and Charlotte Grace.
At the time, it seemed like a harmless grandmotherly gesture.
Now I wondered what else I'd handed over without realizing it.
Dr. Morgan returned shortly after midnight.
She explained that Charlotte's breathing had improved, but she would remain in the NICU.
Amelia was stable.
The news gave me enough strength to think.
“Doctor, can my husband authorize anything for the babies without me?”
“Both legal parents have rights,” she explained carefully. “But medical decisions have procedures, and we're not going to act on questionable paperwork.”
“What about his mother?”
“She has no authority simply because she's their grandmother.”
I held onto that sentence.
Eleanor had spent four years making me feel that everything belonging to Julian automatically belonged to her.
For once, someone was telling me otherwise.
At 1:06 a.m., Julian arrived.
Rebecca saw him first through the narrow glass panel in my door.
He wore the same tuxedo from the birthday party.
His bow tie hung loose.
There was a faint lipstick mark near his collar.
I felt physically sick.
He entered holding a bouquet of white roses.
My favorite flowers.
Or at least the flowers he'd always bought when he wanted forgiveness without explanation.
“Victoria.”
I looked at the bouquet.
“Take those outside.”
He stopped.
“I came as quickly as I could.”
“After the cake?”
His jaw tightened.
Rebecca stood near the window, arms folded.
“Julian,” she said, “your wife just had emergency surgery. Choose your next words carefully.”
He ignored her.
“How are the girls?”
“Alive.”
His face changed.
“Victoria—”
“Charlotte needed intensive care. Amelia is doing well. Their father missed both births.”
“I know I handled tonight badly.”
“Badly?”
He lowered his voice.
“This isn't the place.”
“Then what is the place? The ballroom where your mother called another woman your wife?”
He looked at Rebecca.
“Could we have some privacy?”
“No,” I said.
He studied me for a moment.
Then his eyes fell on the transfer authorization beside my bed.
All the color left his face.
“Where did you get that?”
“Someone delivered it here.”
He reached for the papers.
I pulled them away.
“Did you sign this?”
“No.”
“Did your mother?”
“I don't know.”
“That's not an answer.”
Julian dragged a hand through his hair.
“My mother wanted the twins delivered at a different facility.”
“They've already been delivered.”
“She thought you'd receive more personalized care.”
“She forged my signature?”
His silence was answer enough.
I asked him about Leo.
He sat down.
“Leo is my son.”
The words landed heavily, even though I'd known.
“How old?”
“One today.”
“So Khloe was pregnant while you were telling me we should start trying for children.”
He looked away.
“It wasn't planned.”
“Neither was your lying?”
“Victoria, what happened with Khloe was complicated.”
“Was it complicated when you bought her a birthday cake? Or when your mother called her your daughter-in-law?”
“My mother speaks carelessly.”
“No. She speaks exactly as she intends.”
He looked exhausted.
For the first time, I saw something other than irritation in him.
Fear.
“Khloe doesn't know everything Eleanor has been doing,” he said.
I stared.
“What does that mean?”
He shook his head.
“I can't explain tonight.”
I almost screamed.
Instead, I pointed toward the hall.
“Then leave.”
“Victoria—”
“Leave before you teach our daughters that love means accepting humiliation.”
He stood slowly.
At the door, he turned.
“My mother has more influence over this situation than you realize.”
“Then she should learn what influence cannot buy.”
After he left, Rebecca sat beside me.
“You were stronger than I would've been.”
“No,” I whispered. “I'm terrified.”
She held my hand.
“You can be both.”
The next morning, I was allowed to visit Charlotte.
A nurse wheeled me into the NICU.
My little girl lay beneath soft lights, wires attached to her tiny body.
I placed my finger inside the incubator.
Her hand closed around it.
Such a small grip.
Such an enormous promise.
“I'm here,” I whispered. “Mommy's here.”
Across the room, a woman in a cream coat stood speaking quietly to the unit clerk.
She turned.
Eleanor Vance.
Perfectly dressed.
Pearls.
Silver hair.
A smile that had fooled Manhattan society for thirty years.
“Victoria, darling.”
She approached as if yesterday's livestream had never happened.
“I came to meet my granddaughters.”
I moved my wheelchair between her and Charlotte.
“Stay away from them.”
Eleanor's expression hardened.
“Don't be theatrical.”
“You tried to transfer them.”
“I tried to arrange better care.”
“With a forged signature?”
She looked around.
“Lower your voice.”
“No.”
The clerk stepped closer.
“Ma'am, I need you to return to the reception desk.”
Eleanor's smile disappeared.
She leaned toward me.
“You've always misunderstood how this family works.”
“Then explain it.”
She looked through the incubator at Charlotte.
“For generations, the Vance family has protected its legacy.”
“By stealing children?”
Her eyes flashed.
“Be very careful with that accusation.”
Then she said something that made my stomach tighten.
“Your mother understood what was at stake. That's why she made arrangements before she died.”
I stared at her.
“My mother never trusted you.”
Eleanor smiled faintly.
“She trusted the family she believed you'd marry into.”
I shook my head.
“That's a lie.”
Eleanor reached inside her handbag and removed a small velvet pouch.
She opened it just enough for me to see a familiar gold clasp shaped like a leaf.
My mother's emerald necklace.
But the large emerald was gone.
In its place was an empty gold setting.
Eleanor closed the pouch.
“Your mother left more than jewelry, Victoria.”
May you like
Then she whispered:
“And if you insist on fighting us, I'll make sure you never learn what was hidden inside that stone.”
