Chapter 15 - My Mother Ran
Police reached Corrine's house seven minutes after Mara called.
The place was empty.
Her electronic monitor had been cut cleanly through the strap and left beside a coffee cup. Grant's abandoned car was parked two streets away.
They had planned the escape.
A statewide alert went out before dawn.
I didn't tell Alora until the doctor confirmed her contractions had slowed.
She stared at me without blinking.
"She's loose."
"Police are looking for her."
"She's loose," Alora repeated.
We moved to a hospital room under an alias. Only the attending physician, head nurse, and security supervisor knew our location.
The maternity floor was locked down.
Still, every opening elevator made my pulse jump.
At 9:12 A.M., police located Grant's second vehicle near a private marina.
At 10:03, Coast Guard units stopped a boat six miles offshore.
Grant was aboard.
Corrine wasn't.
Under questioning, Grant claimed she had forced him to help.
Nobody bought it.
Then he offered information in exchange for protection.
"He says Corrine believes Alora has already poisoned you against her beyond repair," Mara told me. "She isn't trying to fix the family anymore."
"What is she trying to do?"
"Win."
Grant said Corrine had prepared multiple fallback plans. If the legal strategy failed, she intended to create a public crisis serious enough to question our ability to care for a newborn.
"What kind of crisis?"
Mara hesitated.
"He doesn't know. Or says he doesn't."
At noon, our security team discovered that someone had hacked the old estate's smart-home system.
Smoke alarms activated.
Interior sprinklers flooded two floors.
News helicopters arrived before the fire department.
Within thirty minutes, anonymous accounts posted that I had "destroyed evidence" at my own property.
It was ridiculous.
It was also effective.
Reporters repeated the claim before police corrected it.
Then a package arrived at the hospital addressed to Alora's alias.
Security intercepted it.
Inside was a baby blanket embroidered with our son's initials.
And beneath it, a handwritten card.
May you like
You took my son from me.
Now I'll take yours.
