Chapter 5
I showed the photograph to Dana.
Then Claire.
Then Hannah.
Nobody spoke for several seconds.
I zoomed in.
Ryan looked about fifteen.
Patricia looked younger but unmistakable.
The little girl had blonde pigtails and a wide smile.
Caroline.
The sister my husband had erased from his entire life.
Dana broke the silence.
“Don’t contact the sender yet.”
“Why?”
“Because we don’t know who they are.”
“It could explain Patricia.”
“Or it could be bait.”
She forwarded the email to herself.
“Let me investigate.”
I wanted answers immediately.
Instead, I spent the afternoon doing the boring things that suddenly mattered more than anything.
Taking Lily to the pediatrician.
Photographing the slight redness on her feet from being cold and wet.
Getting a written assessment.
Documenting her statement that Grandma had put her outside because she was crying.
Every sentence felt like betrayal.
Lily was three.
She should have been talking about cartoons.
Not giving a doctor details for a custody battle.
On the drive back, she asked, “Can we go home?”
My throat closed.
“Not tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because Aunt Hannah wants us to have a sleepover.”
She considered that.
“With pancakes?”
“Definitely pancakes.”
She smiled.
I nearly cried from relief.
That evening, Dana called.
“I found Caroline.”
My heart jumped.
“You found her?”
“Not exactly.”
I stepped into Hannah’s bedroom and closed the door.
“What does that mean?”
“Caroline Carter died when she was four years old.”
I sat down.
“How?”
“There was an accident.”
“What kind?”
“A drowning.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“Twenty-four years ago.”
Ryan would have been fifteen.
Just like the photograph.
“Where?”
“At Patricia’s house.”
I looked through the bedroom door toward Lily playing with blocks.
“What happened?”
“Public records are limited because Caroline was a minor. But I found an old newspaper archive.”
“And?”
“She drowned in the family swimming pool.”
I shut my eyes.
For the first time, Patricia’s obsession looked different.
Not less dangerous.
More understandable.
But still dangerous.
“Was Patricia responsible?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was Ryan there?”
“The article says a teenage family member found her.”
Ryan.
I knew it immediately.
“Can you send me the article?”
“I already did.”
After our call, I opened the scanned newspaper clipping.
LOCAL GIRL DIES IN BACKYARD POOL ACCIDENT.
Four-year-old Caroline Carter had been discovered unresponsive by her fifteen-year-old brother.
He attempted CPR.
Paramedics arrived.
She was pronounced dead at the hospital.
The parents were described as devastated.
No charges were filed.
I read it three times.
Then my phone buzzed.
Ryan.
This time I answered.
“Did Caroline drown?”
Nothing.
Not even breathing.
Then he said, “Who told you?”
“So she existed.”
“Emily.”
“You had a sister.”
“Yes.”
“You never mentioned her once in eleven years.”
His voice became strained.
“I don’t talk about it.”
“Your mother built a bedroom for Lily with her name over the bed.”
Silence.
“You knew?”
“I knew she had a room ready.”
“Why?”
“Because Mom loves Lily.”
“She left Lily outside in the rain.”
“That was wrong.”
“Wrong?”
I lowered my voice.
“You keep using words like mistake and wrong as though she forgot to buy milk.”
Ryan snapped.
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Then why are you helping her take my child?”
“I’m not helping her take Lily.”
“You signed an emergency custody petition.”
“To protect Lily from you.”
The anger came back.
“From what?”
“You’ve been unpredictable.”
“Because I had one panic attack two years ago?”
“That isn’t all.”
“Then tell me.”
He exhaled.
“You scream.”
“When?”
“When you’re angry.”
“Like when your mother leaves our child outside?”
“Before that.”
“Give me an example.”
He couldn’t.
I waited.
Finally, he said, “You threw a glass last year.”
I remembered.
We had been arguing because Ryan had used twenty thousand dollars from our savings without telling me.
I threw a glass into the sink.
It broke.
Lily wasn’t even home.
“You stole twenty thousand dollars.”
“I invested it.”
“You lost it.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It is to me.”
I stood.
“Where did that money go, Ryan?”
Another silence.
I suddenly remembered something else.
Patricia had paid off his credit card six months later.
“Ryan.”
“It was a business investment.”
“What business?”
“Emily, stop.”
“What business?”
He hung up.
I stared at the phone.
That was new.
I went back to Dana.
“Can custody discovery include financial records?”
“Absolutely.”
“I want everything.”
She paused.
“Why?”
“Because Ryan lost twenty thousand dollars last year and never told me where.”
“I’ll add it.”
Then she said, “Emily, I need to tell you something else.”
“What?”
“The judge granted temporary orders.”
I gripped the phone.
“What orders?”
“Lily remains with you until the hearing Friday.”
My knees went weak.
“And Patricia?”
“No unsupervised contact.”
I sat down.
“Ryan?”
“He gets a supervised visit tomorrow.”
I didn’t like it.
But I understood.
He was Lily’s father.
Unless there was proof he had harmed her, the court wasn’t going to erase him overnight.
“What if he takes her?”
“He won’t be alone with her.”
“Who supervises?”
“A professional visitation center.”
That helped.
A little.
Then Dana said, “I also found out who sent the Caroline email.”
My breath caught.
“Who?”
“She contacted me after I started making inquiries.”
“Who is she?”
“Her name is Margaret Ellis.”
“Do I know her?”
“No.”
“Who is she?”
Dana hesitated.
“Patricia’s younger sister.”
I frowned.
“Ryan told me Patricia was an only child.”
“He lied.”
That sentence was becoming normal.
“What does Margaret want?”
“To talk.”
“To me?”
“Yes.”
“About Caroline?”
“And Lily.”
My heart began pounding.
“When?”
“She can meet tomorrow morning.”
I barely slept again.
At nine the next morning, Margaret Ellis walked into Dana’s office.
She was around sixty.
Gray hair.
Simple clothes.
No makeup.
But the moment she looked at me, I saw Patricia around the eyes.
Margaret sat down.
“I’m sorry it took me so long.”
“For what?”
“For staying out of this family.”
She looked at the photograph on the table.
“My sister doesn’t know how to lose people.”
I waited.
“She lost Caroline.”
“I know.”
Margaret shook her head.
“No.”
Her voice was quiet.
“You know Caroline died.”
“That isn’t the same as knowing what happened afterward.”
“What happened?”
“Patricia stopped being a mother to Ryan.”
I frowned.
“She blamed him?”
“Yes.”
“For finding Caroline?”
“For not finding her soon enough.”
My chest tightened.
“He was fifteen.”
“I know.”
Margaret looked down.
“She told him that if he had been paying attention instead of playing video games, Caroline would still be alive.”
I suddenly saw my husband differently.
A teenage boy kneeling beside a swimming pool.
Trying to revive his sister.
Being told it was his fault.
Margaret continued.
“After Caroline died, Patricia kept her room exactly the same for eleven years.”
My skin prickled.
“She wouldn’t let anyone touch it.”
“Until when?”
“Until Ryan got married.”
“To me?”
Margaret nodded.
“Then she emptied it.”
“Why?”
“She said she was ready for Caroline to come back.”
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
“She became obsessed with Ryan having a daughter.”
I thought about my pregnancy.
Patricia buying pink clothing before we knew the sex.
Patricia crying when the ultrasound confirmed a girl.
Patricia demanding to be in the delivery room.
I had thought she was excited about becoming a grandmother.
Margaret’s voice became softer.
“When Lily was born, Patricia sent me a picture.”
“What did she say?”
Margaret swallowed.
“She said, ‘God finally gave her back.’”
My blood went cold.
Dana leaned forward.
“Are you saying Patricia believes Lily is Caroline?”
“I’m saying grief destroyed something in my sister a long time ago.”
Margaret looked directly at me.
“And if Patricia believes you’re standing between her and the daughter she thinks she got back, you should not underestimate what she’s willing to do.”
I felt sick.
Then Margaret reached into her purse.
“I brought you something.”
She placed an old envelope on the table.
Inside were handwritten letters.
All from Patricia.
All addressed to Caroline.
Some had been written years after Caroline died.
The final letter was dated three weeks after Lily was born.
I unfolded it.
The handwriting was neat.
My eyes moved down the page.
Then stopped.
May you like
One sentence had been underlined twice.
This time, Mommy will not let anyone take you away from me.
