Chapter 131 up
“Ms. Nyla, are you certain this is the file you’re looking for?”
The clerk’s voice was polite, professional—too calm for what Nyla’s chest was doing at that moment.
“Yes,” Nyla answered, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter. “Birth records. Hospital admissions. Anything from that year.”
The clerk nodded and turned back to the computer. The soft tapping of keys sounded unnaturally loud in the small archive room. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, sterile and unforgiving, illuminating shelves of neatly labeled folders—orderly, obedient, unchallenging.
Nothing like the chaos now unfolding inside Nyla.
She had come here with restraint, armed with logic. She had told herself she only needed confirmation—something to silence the questions clawing at her ribs.
But the moment she saw the screen reflected faintly in the glass, her certainty began to crack.
The clerk frowned.
“That’s… odd.”
Nyla’s pulse jumped. “What is?”
“There’s a record for the child,” the clerk said slowly, scrolling. “Name: Evan. Date of birth: matches what you requested.”
Relief fluttered—brief, fragile.
“But?” Nyla pressed.
“But the maternal file is incomplete.”
Nyla leaned forward. “Incomplete how?”
The clerk hesitated, then turned the screen slightly so Nyla could see.
Large sections were blank.
Not redacted.
Not restricted.
Simply… missing.
“No attending physician listed,” the clerk continued. “The attending doctor’s name should be here, but it’s been replaced with a placeholder code.”
Nyla stared at the empty field, her mind racing.
“Is that common?” she asked quietly.
The clerk shook their head. “No. Especially not for a birth. That’s one of the most documented medical events there is.”
Nyla swallowed hard. Her mouth felt dry, as if she’d been breathing smoke.
“What about the mother?” she asked.
The clerk clicked again. “That’s the stranger part. The maternal ID exists—but it’s disconnected from any medical history. No prenatal visits. No postnatal care. No recovery notes.”
The clerk paused, clearly uncomfortable now.
“It’s as if… the mother appeared only for the delivery. And vanished immediately after.”
Nyla felt the room tilt.
She forced herself to breathe, one slow inhale at a time.
“Can I have a copy?” she asked.
The clerk hesitated. “Normally, no. But given the inconsistencies…” They trailed off, then sighed. “I can give you a reference extract.”
“Please.”
When the clerk finally walked away to print the document, Nyla sank into the chair beside the counter. Her legs felt weak, as if the strength had been siphoned out of them.
This wasn’t imagination.
This wasn’t trauma misfiring.
This was manipulation.
She closed her eyes, memories surfacing like debris after a flood.
The months she couldn’t fully remember.
The documents she had signed without explanation.
The lawyer who’d said, It’s better if you don’t ask too many questions.
Her phone vibrated softly in her pocket.
A message from Vincent.
You okay? You’ve been quiet.
Nyla didn’t reply.
She couldn’t—not yet.
The clerk returned, placing a thin stack of papers in front of her.
“These are all I can legally provide,” they said. “Anything else would require a formal inquiry.”
Nyla nodded, gathering the pages with hands that trembled despite her effort to remain steady.
“Thank you.”
She stood, walked out, and didn’t stop until she reached the quiet corner of the hallway where no one could see her unravel.
She spread the papers across a bench, eyes scanning line by line.
Evan’s name appeared clearly.
Date. Time. Location.
But everything else—the story around that moment—had been hollowed out.
Like someone had taken scissors to reality.
Her gaze snagged on a small section near the bottom of the page.
Legal Witness: Selena A.
Nyla froze.
The world narrowed to that single line.
Her breath left her lungs in a silent rush.
Selena.
Not as a mother.
Not as family.
But as a legal witness.
“What were you witnessing?” Nyla whispered.
Her fingers traced the printed name, as if touching it could extract answers.
Suddenly, pieces began snapping together with terrifying clarity.
Selena’s precision.
Her patience.
The way she always knew more than she said.
The calculated distance she kept—never too close, never fully absent.
Nyla’s chest tightened painfully.
Selena hadn’t just been part of the aftermath.
She had been there at the beginning.
Her phone buzzed again—this time with an unknown number.
Nyla stared at the screen for a long moment before answering.
“Hello?”
“You’re looking in the wrong place,” a woman’s voice said calmly.
Nyla’s spine stiffened. “Who is this?”
A soft exhale. Almost amused.
“You’ve already seen my name, haven’t you?”
Nyla closed her eyes.
“Selena.”
“Good,” Selena replied. “That means you’re finally asking the right questions.”
Nyla’s grip tightened around the phone. “What did you do?”
Selena didn’t answer immediately. When she did, her voice was even—controlled, devoid of apology.
“I ensured the child survived.”
Nyla’s breath hitched violently. “At what cost?”
“At the cost of the truth,” Selena said. “At the cost of you knowing.”
Anger surged—hot, blinding.
“You stole something from me,” Nyla said, her voice shaking. “You don’t get to dress that up as mercy.”
Selena sighed softly. “You were broken, Nyla. Trapped. The law was closing in. Clark was destroying everything in his path. If the truth had come out then, you would have lost more than your freedom.”
“You don’t know that,” Nyla snapped.
“I do,” Selena replied quietly. “Because I was watching. Because I was the one standing in the room when decisions were made by men who saw you as expendable.”
Nyla’s knees weakened. She leaned against the wall, phone pressed hard to her ear.
“And Evan?” she demanded. “What about him?”
Selena’s silence stretched longer this time.
“Evan’s birth was not an accident,” she said finally. “It was the result of adult decisions. Strategic ones.”
Nyla’s heart pounded so loudly she could barely hear.
“You mean,” Nyla whispered, “his life was negotiated.”
“Yes.”
The word landed like a verdict.
Nyla’s vision blurred.
“So my pain was acceptable,” she said hoarsely. “As long as the child lived.”
Selena didn’t deny it.
“There are moments,” Selena said, “when survival requires erasure.”
Nyla laughed—a broken sound that scraped her throat raw.
“You erased me,” she said. “You erased the mother.”
“I preserved the child,” Selena corrected.
Nyla slid down the wall until she was sitting on the cold floor, papers scattered around her like fallen leaves.
“And you decided that was enough,” Nyla said. “That I didn’t deserve to know.”
Selena’s voice softened, just slightly. “I decided you deserved to live.”
Nyla closed her eyes, tears streaming freely now.
“And did it ever occur to you,” she asked, “that living without the truth isn’t living at all?”
Silence.
For the first time, Selena had no immediate response.
Nyla wiped her face with the back of her hand and stood, voice steadier despite the devastation ripping through her.
“You don’t get to choose for me anymore,” Nyla said. “Whatever you thought you were protecting—whatever you were controlling—it ends now.”
Selena exhaled slowly. “Be careful, Nyla. The truth has consequences.”
“I know,” Nyla replied. “I’ve been paying for them my entire life.”
She ended the call.
The hallway felt different now—too small, too confining. Nyla gathered the papers, tucking them carefully into her bag as if they were fragile artifacts.
Proof.
Not of love.
Not of fate.
But of calculation.
She stepped outside into the open air, sunlight harsh against her swollen eyes.
Somewhere in this city, Evan was laughing, playing, growing—unaware that his existence had been shaped by contracts and silence instead of honesty.
Nyla placed a hand over her chest, steadying herself.
His birth wasn’t a miracle.
It wasn’t a mistake.
It was a choice.
A decision made by adults who believed they had the right to decide who deserved the truth—and who could be erased without consequence.
Her jaw set.
They were wrong.