Chapter 6
For the first time since I had known him, Michael looked like a little boy.
He touched the photograph with one finger.
“That’s her.”
The detective sat across from us.
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“Eight years is a long time.”
“I’d know my sister anywhere.”
His voice broke on the final word.
I looked again.
Rebecca appeared thin.
Her hair was darker.
Her face older.
But she was unmistakably the same woman from the photograph in Michael’s safe.
Alive.
“Then whose funeral did you attend?” I asked.
Michael stared at the table.
“There wasn’t one.”
“What?”
“Diane told us Rebecca’s body was cremated before I could get home.”
The detective frowned.
“From where?”
“Colorado.”
“Why was she there?”
“Supposedly visiting friends.”
“Did you see a death certificate?”
“Yes.”
“Original?”
“I thought so.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“You never verified your own sister’s death?”
Michael snapped his head toward me.
“I was twenty-six and my mother told me Rebecca had been burned beyond recognition.”
His pain stopped me.
“I’m sorry.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“She gave me an urn.”
“Where is it?”
“At our house.”
I remembered it.
A small silver urn in the back of Michael’s closet.
He told me it belonged to an aunt.
Another lie.
Or another lie Diane told him.
The detective asked, “Where is Diane now?”
“County detention,” I said.
He stood.
“I need to make calls.”
The moment he left, Michael looked at me.
“If Rebecca is alive, Emily may have never been orphaned.”
“Then why was Emily raised by my mother?”
“I don’t know.”
Kate spoke quietly.
“Maybe Rebecca wanted her hidden.”
“From Diane,” I said.
Michael nodded.
Then another possibility occurred to me.
“Maybe Rebecca didn’t disappear from Diane.”
Michael looked up.
“Maybe she disappeared with Mom.”
Silence.
Kate whispered, “Mom helped her.”
“Maybe.”
“But then why all the lies?”
I thought about Linda.
Cold.
Controlling.
Secretive.
We had stopped speaking after Noah’s fourth birthday.
She had taken Noah into another room without asking.
When I found them, she was cutting a small piece of his hair.
She claimed gum had gotten stuck.
I didn’t believe her.
We fought.
She called me paranoid.
I told her not to come back until she respected my boundaries.
She never did.
Now I knew exactly why she wanted Noah’s hair.
DNA.
“She tested him,” I whispered.
Michael frowned.
“What?”
“My mother cut Noah’s hair when he was four.”
Kate’s eyes widened.
“She told me you overreacted.”
“She was collecting DNA.”
Michael stood.
“Then she knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That Noah matched Rebecca’s donor line.”
My stomach twisted.
“Maybe she knew before we did.”
Kate shook her head.
“This is insane.”
Then Noah appeared in the hallway.
“Can I sleep with Mom tonight?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t hesitate.
He climbed beside me.
Michael looked at him with so much love that my anger became harder to hold.
Not gone.
Just complicated.
Noah rested his head on my shoulder.
“Is Grandma going to jail?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“She said police couldn’t touch her.”
Michael’s jaw tightened.
“What else did she tell you?”
Noah thought.
“She said when I turn eight, I get a new house.”
Nobody spoke.
“What house?”
“The lake house.”
Kate looked at me.
I asked gently, “Did Grandma say who would live there?”
Noah nodded.
“Her.”
My skin crawled.
“And us?”
“No.”
Michael gripped the chair.
“What did she say about Mom and me?”
Noah became uncomfortable.
“Sweetheart, you’re not in trouble.”
“She said you would go away.”
“Where?”
“She said Dad would be arrested and Mom would be too sick to take care of me.”
Michael walked out of the room.
I heard something hit the kitchen counter.
Kate followed him.
I stayed with Noah.
“Did Grandma tell you why I’d be sick?”
He shook his head.
“She just said tired moms make mistakes.”
That phrase meant something.
I worked long hospital shifts.
Diane constantly criticized me for it.
She had probably been documenting every late evening.
Every babysitting request.
Every school pickup Michael handled.
Building a case.
“Did Grandma ever give you medicine?”
Noah frowned.
“Vitamins.”
My heart skipped.
“What vitamins?”
“Pink ones.”
“When?”
“When she babysits.”
“How many times?”
He shrugged.
“A lot.”
I stood so quickly he startled.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I forced my voice calm.
“Where are those vitamins?”
“At home.”
I called our pediatrician.
Then poison control.
Then the police.
Within twenty minutes, a detective in Dallas was sent to our house.
Michael returned.
His face was pale.
“What happened?”
I told him.
He stared at Noah.
“Diane gave him pills?”
“She called them vitamins.”
“What were they?”
“We don’t know.”
Noah whispered, “They make me sleepy.”
That broke something in Michael.
He walked outside.
I followed.
He stood on the porch with both hands on the railing.
“She drugged my son.”
“We don’t know that yet.”
“Yes, we do.”
“Michael.”
“She did it to Rebecca.”
I froze.
“What?”
He turned.
“When we were teenagers, Rebecca started getting sick. Dizzy. Tired. Confused.”
“Doctors?”
“Diane took her to several.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing made sense.”
His face twisted.
“After Grandpa died, Rebecca stopped taking the supplements Diane gave her.”
“And?”
“She got better.”
I felt ice move through my veins.
“Did Rebecca accuse her?”
“Yes.”
“Of poisoning her?”
“Not directly. She said Mom was making her sick.”
“And you didn’t believe her.”
Michael looked away.
“I was stupid.”
“You were young.”
“I chose Diane.”
His eyes filled.
“Rebecca begged me to leave with her.”
“What happened?”
“I told her she needed help.”
His voice cracked.
“Three weeks later, she disappeared.”
I touched his arm.
He didn’t pull away.
“I spent eight years thinking she died believing I hated her.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have.”
The detective called.
They found the bottle.
The label had been peeled off.
The pills were prescription-strength diphenhydramine.
Adult dosage.
I shut my eyes.
Noah had been receiving them repeatedly.
Maybe not enough to cause immediate catastrophe.
Enough to make him sleepy.
Confused.
Sluggish.
Enough to make a working mother think her son was simply tired after school.
Michael said, “Charge her.”
The detective answered, “We’re working on it.”
“Work faster.”
I had never heard him sound like that.
They transported Noah to an emergency clinic for bloodwork.
I hated every second of it.
He hated needles.
I held his hand.
Michael stood on the other side.
For those few minutes, we were still Mom and Dad.
Everything else disappeared.
The tests showed no dangerous current levels.
The doctor said repeated use could explain some episodes we had attributed to allergies or fatigue.
I felt guilty.
Michael did too.
Noah looked between us.
“Can we go home?”
I kissed his forehead.
“Soon.”
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman whispered, “Sarah Bennett?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Rebecca.”
I stood.
Michael saw my face.
He knew.
I put the phone on speaker.
“Rebecca?”
Michael stepped closer.
The woman inhaled sharply.
“Michael?”
He covered his mouth.
“Becca?”
Silence.
Then sobbing.
His knees almost gave out.
“Becca, is that you?”
“Yes.”
Michael cried openly.
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because Linda is listening.”
I looked around the clinic.
“What do you mean?”
Rebecca whispered, “Your mother has Emily.”
“My mother?”
“She’s not protecting her anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because Diane changed the deal.”
“What deal?”
Rebecca’s breathing quickened.
“They were supposed to split the trust.”
Michael stared at me.
“But Diane tried to cut Linda out.”
“When?”
“After Noah was born.”
My blood chilled.
Rebecca continued.
“Linda realized Noah could replace Emily as the controlled beneficiary.”
“Controlled?”
“Diane wanted Noah. Linda wanted Emily.”
I felt sick.
“Like property.”
“Yes.”
Michael asked, “Why didn’t you go to police?”
“I tried.”
“What happened?”
“David found me first.”
Michael’s expression hardened.
“He said you were dead.”
“He helped fake it.”
“Why?”
“To keep Diane from killing me.”
Nobody spoke.
Rebecca continued.
“He thought hiding me was the only way.”
“Then why is he working with Diane now?”
“He isn’t.”
I frowned.
“He was in my house.”
“He was trying to get evidence.”
“The papers?”
“Yes.”
“And the key?”
“He put it there for you.”
My heart raced.
“Unit 117.”
“Go there.”
“Why?”
“Everything is there.”
“Are you there?”
“No.”
“Is Emily?”
Rebecca started crying again.
“No.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Linda’s voice came through the phone.
Very close.
“Rebecca.”
Rebecca gasped.
The line went silent for a second.
Then my mother spoke directly into the phone.
“Sarah.”
I gripped it.
“Where is Emily?”
“Safe.”
“Where?”
“With someone who understands what’s at stake.”
“You broke into Kate’s house.”
“She stole from me.”
“You drugged my son?”
“That was Diane.”
“You knew.”
Silence.
“You knew and said nothing.”
Linda’s voice softened.
“I did what I had to do.”
“For money?”
“For you.”
I laughed.
“Don’t you dare.”
“You think your life happened by accident?”
My skin prickled.
“What does that mean?”
“Why do you think Diane chose your fertility clinic?”
I looked at Michael.
“Because she knew you.”
“No.”
Linda paused.
“Because I gave her your name.”
My knees weakened.
“You what?”
“I made one mistake twenty years ago.”
“What mistake?”
“I trusted Diane.”
Then my mother said the sentence that changed the story again.
“Sarah, Rebecca isn’t the only daughter I helped hide.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“What are you talking about?”
May you like
Linda answered calmly.
“You were the first.”
