“Chris, please,” she said. “Think about Oliver. Think about us.”
“I am thinking about a baby who is crying,” he answered. “If you know something, tell me now.”
Victoria closed her eyes and whispered, “I warned you.”
Christopher lifted the hammer. The first strike cracked the plaster with a sharp sound that echoed through the corridor. Dust fell to the floor. The crying grew louder, more frantic. He struck again. And again. Each blow widening the fracture, each cry sounding more desperate. The pristine wall shattered piece by piece, revealing darkness behind it.
Christopher aimed the flashlight into the opening. His breath stopped.
There, hidden in a narrow hollow between concrete panels, lay a baby girl. She was wrapped in dirty blankets. A plastic bottle sat empty beside her. Her tiny body shook from cold. Her skin was red and raw where diapers had been left too long. Her eyes were open, glossy and terrified, reflecting the beam of the flashlight.
Christopher dropped the hammer. It hit the marble floor with a metallic clang that seemed to echo forever.
He reached into the cavity carefully and lifted the baby out. She was dangerously light in his arms, fragile as a bird. Her crying weakened into a hoarse whimper as he held her against his chest.
He turned to Victoria. “There is a child inside our wall,” he said slowly. “Explain this to me.”
Victoria slid down the opposite wall, covering her face with her hands. Her sobs were quiet but uncontrollable.
“Whose baby is she,” Christopher asked, his voice trembling with rage and disbelief.
Victoria shook her head, unable to speak.
Christopher looked down at the child. “Little one,” he whispered, “how long have you been here.”
He then took out his phone and dialed emergency services.
“My name is Christopher Halvorsen,” he told the operator. “I have found an infant hidden inside a wall in my house. She is alive but in critical condition. I need paramedics and police immediately.”
The operator hesitated, shocked, but then assured him help was on the way.
Christopher carried the baby into Oliver’s nursery, wrapped her in a warm blanket, and sat in the rocking chair, holding her close to his heart. She instinctively leaned into the warmth, her small fingers curling around his shirt.
When he returned to the hallway, Victoria sat with her head bowed.
“What is her name,” he asked.
Victoria’s voice was barely audible. “Her name is Grace.”