Chapter 7
Claire’s facility looked clean from the outside.
White walls.
Trimmed hedges.
Soft music in the lobby.
Places like that know how to hide suffering under lavender air freshener.
Detective Morales arranged the visit with a victim advocate.
Diane’s guardianship was suspended pending review.
Claire sat by a window in a blue sweater.
She was thin.
Her hair was streaked with silver though she could not have been much older than me.
When she saw me, her eyes sharpened.
Not empty.
Not confused.
Trapped.
I knelt in front of her.
“Claire? My name is Emily.”
Her fingers tightened on the blanket.
“Ryan,” she whispered.
I nodded.
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled.
“Baby?”
I froze.
“What baby?”
She struggled.
“Mine.”
The advocate leaned closer.
“Claire, did you have a child?”
Tears slid down Claire’s cheeks.
“Gone.”
My stomach dropped.
Ryan had never mentioned a child.
Never.
Claire’s hand trembled toward a drawer beside her chair.
The advocate opened it.
Inside was a folded photo.
Claire holding a newborn girl.
On the back, written in shaky ink:
Mara. Taken by Diane.
I could not breathe.
Diane had not started with Lily.
The advocate whispered, “We need to call the detective.”
Claire grabbed my wrist with surprising strength.
“Save,” she said.
“Who?”
May you like
Her eyes locked on mine.
“Girls.”
