Chapter 11
Dr. Voss was found dead three days before trial.
At least, that was what the first report said.
Car crash.
Fire.
Body too damaged for immediate identification.
It felt too neat.
Harris thought so too.
Peter panicked when he heard.
Caroline smiled.
That told us more than the report.
Two days later, forensic dental records proved the body was not Voss.
It was a former patient.
A missing man from the clinic.
Voss had staged his death the same way they had staged Claire’s.
Old habits.
New victims.
Harris widened the investigation.
Federal agents joined.
Everything became bigger than our house.
Other names appeared.
Other patients.
Other estates.
Other inheritances.
Claire stared at the growing case board in Harris’s office.
“I wasn’t the only one.”
“No,” Harris said gently.
Her face changed.
Survivor’s guilt is a cruel thing.
It asks why you lived and someone else didn’t.
I saw the question enter her.
I stepped closer.
“You are not responsible for what monsters repeated.”
She looked at me.
“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“I know what guilt looks like.”
She held my gaze.
Then nodded.
Lily began therapy that week.
Mia too.
Noah mostly played with blocks and hid crackers in tiny piles behind furniture.
The therapist said it was normal.
I hated that word.
Normal for children who had been starved.
Normal for daughters who had been taught secrets were love.
Normal for sons who trusted walls more than rooms.
One night, I found Lily and Mia sleeping in the same bed.
Their hands were linked.
Claire stood in the doorway.
“I missed them becoming sisters,” she whispered.
I said, “They are becoming sisters now.”
She leaned against the frame.
“Do I get to become their mother now?”
“You already are.”
Her eyes filled.
May you like
“Not in their memories.”
“In their mornings,” I said. “Start there.”
