Chapter 9 - The Woman at the Bookstore

Rebecca Lane's bookstore smelled like paper, raincoats, and cinnamon tea. She was fifty now, with gray streaks in her dark hair and the wary eyes of someone accustomed to disappointment. When I told her my mother's name, her hand went to her mouth.

“Mara said she was close,” Rebecca whispered. “Then they told me she'd died. Another person who knew the truth, gone.”

She led us behind a curtain into a room stacked with boxes. On the table stood a framed picture of a newborn in a pink cap. Rebecca touched the glass once before she spoke.

“They told me my baby stopped breathing. I never held her afterward. They refused an autopsy. A funeral director delivered a sealed urn and said the hospital had already handled everything. I was nineteen and alone. For years I thought grief had made me suspicious.”

“Why did you go to the legal-aid clinic?” I asked.

“I saw Richard Whitmore carrying a toddler at a fundraiser. Everyone called her Vanessa. She had the same birthmark my daughter had on her left shoulder. I know that isn't proof. But I had to ask.”

Daniel sat down slowly. I could see him fitting his childhood memories around this new version of Vanessa. “Did you ever try speaking to her?”

“Once. Richard's guards blocked me before I reached her. After that I received a letter accusing me of harassment. I never tried again.”

Rebecca didn't ask us to call Vanessa her daughter. She asked for records. Her restraint broke my heart.

At the door, she pressed a small blue notebook into my palm. “Your mother gave me this before she died. She said it contained names she couldn't safely say aloud.”

The pages held dates, payment amounts, and initials. Near the back my mother had written: A.M. accepted original certificate for safekeeping, 4/16. R.W. threatened to end the scholarship fund if revealed.

Daniel read the note and said, “My father has the original.”

May you like

Billionaire’s Wife Kicked a Waitress in Front of 300 Elites—One Slap Exp...

The billionaire’s wife tried to kick a waitress in the face in front of 300 wealthy guests. But seconds later, she whispered three...

My Mother Grabbed My Wife by the Hair Over Cold Soup—But What My Father...

My mother grabbed my wife by the hair over a bowl of cold soup. And the most shameful part? For one terrible second, I almost defe...

My Parents Kicked My 6-Year-Old Daughter and Me Out on Christmas—Then I...

My mother kicked my six-year-old daughter out of Christmas dinner, never realizing I was the only reason she still had a house to...

I was turning the next page when a photograph slipped free. It showed my mother standing beside Rebecca outside the clinic. Behind them, barely visible through a parked car's windshield, sat Vanessa's father.

On the reverse, my mother had written a warning: HE WAS THERE THE DAY THEY TOOK HER.