Chapter 10 - The House With No Crib
The old Carver house stood empty on twelve wooded acres north of the city.
Leah did not go alone.
She wore a wire Simone borrowed from a television producer, while Carla waited with police Detective Jonah Ruiz two miles away. Ruiz was the first officer Simone trusted enough to show part of the files.
Leah entered through the front door carrying an empty infant carrier covered by a blanket.
“Marcus?”
No answer.
The house smelled like dust and cedar.
A light glowed beneath the basement door.
Leah descended.
Mae’s chair sat in the center of the room.
Empty.
A speaker crackled overhead.
Doreen’s voice filled the basement.
“You always were stubborn.”
Leah spun around.
“Where is Mae?”
“Safe enough.”
“You forged my signature.”
“You married into a family you never understood.”
“Then help me understand.”
Doreen laughed softly. “You think love keeps families together? Money does. Structure does. Control does.”
Leah looked at the empty chair.
“You stole babies.”
“I corrected unstable situations.”
The words hit like a slap.
“You sold children.”
“I placed children where they would thrive.”
“And Noah?”
“He belongs with the Carvers.”
Leah’s hand tightened around the empty carrier.
“He is a Carver because I gave birth to him.”
“No. He is valuable because Harold made him valuable.”
A door slammed upstairs.
Leah turned.
Nathan came down the stairs.
His face was bruised.
“Leah, listen to me.”
She backed away. “Where is my son?”
Nathan stared at the carrier.
Then at her.
His expression changed.
“You didn’t bring him.”
Doreen’s voice snapped through the speaker.
“Nathan, take her phone.”
He stepped closer.
Leah raised a metal fireplace poker.
Nathan stopped.
“Mom doesn’t have Mae,” he said.
Leah blinked.
“What?”
“Marcus does.”
“Where?”
Nathan swallowed.
“Briar Glen.”
May you like
Leah walked slowly through the old house before descending to the basement. Family photographs still lined the hallway: Nathan at twelve with a tennis trophy, Doreen in pearls beside Harold, three generations posed in front of the same stone fireplace. In every picture, everyone stood exactly where Doreen seemed to have placed them. Leah suddenly saw the family mythology for what it was. Order had always mattered more than tenderness. Image had always mattered more than truth. Noah was not the first person Doreen had tried to position like an object.
Then the basement lights went out.
