Right after delivery, my husband smirked at the newborn: “We need a DNA test to be sure it’s mine.” I held the baby tightly, tears in my eyes, and whispered, “Fine, let’s do it.” Days later, the doctor stared at the lab results with a pale face and said, “Ma’am, call the police right now.”

with a desperate, agonizing fear. “Where are they? Where are our real babies?”

Alvarez re-entered the room before I could answer. His suit jacket was off, his tie loosened. He looked electrified, thrumming with dangerous energy.

“We have a fracture in the timeline,” the detective announced, shutting the heavy door behind him. “We cross-referenced the continue reading …