Chapter 7
We called police before going anywhere near the house.
By the time we arrived, the front door was still open.
An officer entered first.
Then another.
I waited outside with Dana and Ryan.
Lily had gone back to Hannah.
I refused to bring her anywhere near this.
An officer finally came outside.
“The house is clear.”
I rushed in.
Nothing looked disturbed.
That was the terrifying part.
Patricia knew exactly where to go.
Upstairs.
Hallway.
Office.
The safe door stood open.
I walked toward it.
My passport was still there.
Ryan’s passport too.
Lily’s was gone.
I stared at the empty space.
“No.”
Dana immediately turned to Ryan.
“Where would your mother take her?”
He looked stunned.
“She doesn’t have Lily.”
“She has the passport.”
“Why?”
I looked at him.
“You tell me.”
He shook his head.
“She wouldn’t leave the country.”
“Wouldn’t she?”
“She barely travels.”
Dana asked, “Does she have relatives abroad?”
“No.”
“Property?”
“No.”
I suddenly remembered something.
“Mexico.”
Ryan looked at me.
“What?”
“Your mother goes to Cabo.”
He shook his head.
“Once a year.”
“With who?”
“Friends.”
“Does she own anything there?”
“I don’t think so.”
Dana said, “Thinking isn’t enough.”
The officer took our report.
Then Ryan received another message.
Patricia again.
This one said:
You have until tonight to decide whether you are my son or hers.
Ryan stared at it.
I watched his face.
For years, Patricia had controlled him with disappointment.
With guilt.
With the memory of Caroline.
Now she was losing him.
And she was escalating.
“Call her,” Dana said.
Ryan looked at her.
“What?”
“Call your mother. Speakerphone.”
He did.
Patricia answered immediately.
“Where are you?”
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
“Mom, did you take Lily’s passport?”
Silence.
Then, “You shouldn’t be talking to Emily.”
“Answer me.”
“She is manipulating you.”
“Did you take the passport?”
“I protected something that belongs to our family.”
My skin crawled.
Ryan shut his eyes.
“Lily is not Caroline.”
The silence changed.
I could feel it through the phone.
Patricia’s voice became icy.
“Who said she was?”
“Margaret told us.”
“That traitor.”
“Mom.”
“Your aunt has always hated me.”
“No.”
Ryan’s voice cracked.
“She told us what happened after Caroline died.”
“Hang up.”
“Mom—”
“Hang up now.”
“No.”
For the first time in our marriage, I heard Ryan openly defy his mother.
Patricia heard it too.
“You let that woman turn you against me.”
I stared at the phone.
That woman.
Me.
His wife of eleven years.
The mother of his child.
Ryan whispered, “You tried to fake evidence against Emily.”
“I tried to save Lily.”
“From what?”
“From losing another child because everyone around me was careless.”
Ryan flinched as though she had struck him.
“You still blame me.”
Patricia said nothing.
His eyes filled.
“I was fifteen.”
“Don’t.”
“I was fifteen years old.”
“Ryan.”
“I found her in the pool.”
“Stop.”
“I gave her CPR until the ambulance came.”
His shoulders shook.
“And you told me it was my fault.”
“Because I had asked you to watch her!”
The words exploded through the speaker.
Nobody moved.
Ryan’s face emptied.
Patricia breathed hard.
Then said, quieter, “You were supposed to watch her for twenty minutes.”
“I was a child too.”
“You were fifteen.”
“I was a child.”
“You were her brother!”
Ryan ended the call.
He stood there trembling.
For the first time, I didn’t see my cheating husband.
I saw that fifteen-year-old boy.
I still hated what he had done to me.
But I understood where some of his weakness had been built.
Dana broke the silence.
“We still need the passport.”
Ryan wiped his eyes.
“I know where she keeps important documents.”
“Her house?”
“Yes.”
Police agreed to accompany us because Lily’s passport had been taken without permission.
Three hours later, we arrived at Patricia’s home.
The house looked perfect.
White brick.
Trimmed hedges.
American flag by the porch.
Patricia wasn’t there.
Ryan unlocked the door with his old key.
An officer entered first.
We followed.
I had visited this house hundreds of times.
Christmases.
Birthdays.
Sunday dinners.
Now it felt unfamiliar.
Ryan led us upstairs.
At the end of the hallway was a locked door.
“What’s in there?” I asked.
He stopped.
“Caroline’s old room.”
My stomach tightened.
“I thought Margaret said it was emptied.”
“It was.”
He looked at me.
“Mom started using it again after Lily was born.”
He unlocked the door.
I stepped inside.
And forgot how to breathe.
This wasn’t the pink bedroom from Claire’s photograph.
It was older.
Different.
The wallpaper was faded.
A child-sized dresser sat against the wall.
On shelves were dolls from the 1990s.
Framed photographs of Caroline.
But mixed among them were photographs of Lily.
Dozens.
Lily at six months.
Lily’s first birthday.
Lily asleep in my arms.
Lily at the playground.
Lily at preschool.
Some photographs I had never seen.
On the bed lay two outfits.
One old.
One new.
Both nearly identical.
A blue dress with white flowers.
Ryan stared.
“Oh my God.”
I looked at an old photograph beside the bed.
Caroline wearing the same blue dress.
My knees weakened.
Dana whispered, “Document everything.”
The officer photographed the room.
Then I saw the closet.
Inside were suitcases.
Children’s clothes.
Medication.
Snacks.
A car seat still in its box.
Everything someone would need to leave quickly with a three-year-old.
Ryan opened the desk drawer.
He pulled out folders.
One contained Lily’s birth certificate copy.
One contained medical records.
One contained preschool documents.
Then he found the passport.
I almost cried.
“Give me that.”
The officer bagged it as evidence first.
Then another folder slipped open.
Airline confirmations.
Dallas to San Diego.
Tomorrow morning.
One adult.
One child.
Passenger names:
Patricia Carter.
Lily Carter.
My heart stopped.
“She booked a flight.”
Dana scanned the page.
“San Diego isn’t Mexico.”
Ryan pulled out another page.
A hotel confirmation near the border.
Then a reservation for a private car service.
San Diego to Tijuana.
My whole body went cold.
“She was going to take her across the border.”
Ryan looked like he might be sick.
“I didn’t know.”
I turned on him.
“You gave her everything she needed.”
“I know.”
“You helped her create a custody case.”
“I know.”
“You planned to move Lily into this house.”
“I know!”
His shout echoed.
Then he broke.
He sat on Caroline’s old bed and covered his face.
“I know.”
No one spoke.
I walked to the wall.
There was a drawing taped near the desk.
Crayon.
A little girl.
A woman.
A house.
The woman was labeled Grandma.
The girl was labeled Caroline.
But the paper was new.
And the handwriting beneath it belonged to Patricia.
Soon.
Just that.
Soon.
The officer’s radio crackled.
Then he looked at us.
“Mrs. Carter?”
“Yes?”
“We just received an update from Dallas.”
My heart jumped.
“What?”
“Your mother-in-law’s vehicle was spotted near your sister’s apartment about twenty minutes ago.”
I grabbed my phone.
Hannah.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
My entire body went numb.
I called a third time.
Finally, Hannah answered.
But she wasn’t the one who spoke.
Lily was crying.
And Patricia’s voice came through the phone.
“Emily.”
I stopped breathing.
“Where is my daughter?”
Patricia sounded almost peaceful.
“You should have let the court handle this quietly.”
“Where is Lily?”
“Your sister made things difficult.”
My knees weakened.
“What did you do?”
Then Hannah screamed in the background.
“Emily, don’t listen to her! Lily’s with me!”
I heard a struggle.
The line crackled.
Patricia shouted.
A door slammed.
Then Hannah came back on.
“She tried to get in.”
I nearly collapsed.
“Do you have Lily?”
“Yes.”
“Is she safe?”
“Yes.”
Sirens sounded through the phone.
Hannah started crying.
“Police are here.”
I looked toward the officer.
He nodded.
They had coordinated it.
Patricia hadn’t gotten inside.
She hadn’t gotten Lily.
But something inside me changed permanently.
May you like
This wasn’t a custody dispute anymore.
This was someone hunting my child.
