Chapter 12 - The Woman Who Bought a MiracleCeleste Bellamy arrived at the federal building in pearls and a cashmere coat the color of winter fog.
She looked nothing like a villain.
That made Maya hate her more.
I watched through the interview-room glass as Celeste sat across from Naomi Price with trembling hands folded in her lap.
Maya stood beside me holding Lily.
Sofía was upstairs in a secured neonatal unit under police guard.
For now, both girls were alive.
That should have felt like victory.
It didn’t.
Celeste had the soft, expensive sadness of a woman used to being comforted by strangers.
“I was told the mother had died,” she said.
Naomi did not blink.
“Which mother?”
Celeste swallowed.
“Sofía’s.”
Maya’s grip tightened on Lily.
Naomi opened a folder and slid Maya’s photograph across the table.
“Does she look dead?”
Celeste looked down.
Her face crumpled.
“No.”
“Who told you the mother died?”
“Dr. Voss.”
“And you believed him?”
“I wanted to.”
There it was again.
The oldest confession in the world.
I wanted to.
Celeste pressed her fingers to her mouth.
“I had six miscarriages. Two failed surrogacies. Arthur said we were done trying. Then Dr. Voss told us about a baby girl with no surviving family. He said she was medically fragile. He said she needed sponsors before adoption could proceed.”
“How much did you pay?”
Celeste whispered the number.
Naomi’s expression remained professional.
Maya almost dropped Lily.
Three million dollars.
Three million dollars for the child Maya had been told was dead.
“Did you ever see her?” Naomi asked.
Celeste nodded.
“Through glass. Twice.”
“And did you hold her?”
“No. Dr. Voss said bonding too early could distress her.”
I looked at Maya.
Her eyes were dry now.
That was worse.
Celeste continued.
“I named her Grace.”
Maya moved before I could stop her.
She opened the interview-room door and stepped inside.
Naomi stood.
“Mrs. Santos—”
“No,” Maya said. “Let her look at me.”
Celeste turned.
The two women faced each other.
One had bought a miracle.
The other had buried one.
Maya’s voice was calm.
“Her name is Sofía.”
Celeste began to cry harder.
“I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t ask.”
That landed harder than any scream could have.
Celeste flinched.
Maya stepped closer.
“I held empty blankets for four months. My milk came in for a baby they told me was ashes. My six-year-old watched me cry on the bathroom floor. And you were somewhere choosing a nursery color?”
Celeste covered her face.
“I’m sorry.”
Maya laughed once.
“Sorry is what people say when they spill coffee.”
Celeste looked at Lily.
Lily hid her face against Maya’s shoulder.
“I would have loved her,” Celeste whispered.
Maya’s face tightened.
“So would I.”
No one spoke.
Then Celeste lowered her hands.
“Arthur knew.”
The room shifted.
Naomi leaned forward.
“What?”
“My husband,” Celeste said. “He knew there was a living mother.”
Maya went still.
May you like
Celeste looked at me through the glass.
“And he’s with Dr. Voss right now.”
