Chapter 4
Mrs. Carter arrived at the hospital just after midnight.
The moment she saw me, she burst into tears.
"My baby."
I stood.
She wrapped her arms around me so tightly I could barely breathe.
I buried my face against her shoulder.
For a moment, I was six years old again.
The little girl who used to wake up crying because she couldn't remember her mother's face.
Mrs. Carter held me until my shaking stopped.
Then she pulled back.
"Let me look at you."
I tried to smile.
"I'm okay."
She touched the bruises on my wrist.
Her expression hardened.
"Somebody did this to you?"
I nodded.
She closed her eyes.
"Lord, give me strength."
I almost laughed.
Mrs. Carter had always been gentle.
But when someone hurt one of her foster children, she became a completely different woman.
Evelyn stood near the doorway.
Mrs. Carter noticed her.
For a long moment, they simply stared at each other.
Then Evelyn stepped forward.
"Mrs. Carter?"
She nodded.
"You're Evelyn Whitmore."
Evelyn's eyes filled.
"Thank you for raising my daughter."
Mrs. Carter looked at me.
Then back at Evelyn.
"I raised Nia because she needed a home."
Her voice was calm.
"But don't thank me like she's something I was holding for you."
Evelyn flinched.
Mrs. Carter continued.
"She's a grown woman. She decides what happens next."
I felt tears rise.
Evelyn nodded slowly.
"You're right."
For the first time that night, I saw someone speak to Evelyn without fear.
And Evelyn listened.
Mrs. Carter sat beside me.
"Now, baby, tell me everything."
I explained the necklace.
The birth certificate.
The missing inheritance.
The kidnapping.
And Vanessa's attempt to kill me.
Mrs. Carter listened carefully.
When I finished, she reached into her purse.
"There may be something you need to see."
I frowned.
"What?"
She removed a small envelope.
It was old and yellowed.
My name was written across the front.
I stared at it.
"Where did you get that?"
Mrs. Carter looked uncomfortable.
"It came with your foster care records."
My heart began pounding.
"You never showed me."
She shook her head.
"I didn't know what it meant."
I swallowed.
"Why?"
"Because the social worker who brought you to me said it was a personal item that should stay sealed until you were older."
I stared at her.
"How much older?"
"She never specified."
Mrs. Carter's eyes filled.
"I should have given it to you when you turned eighteen."
I took the envelope.
My fingers trembled as I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
A young woman stood beside a little girl.
The woman had long dark hair.
The child wore a yellow dress.
The little girl's face was unmistakably mine.
I stared at the woman.
She wasn't Evelyn.
I looked up.
"Who is this?"
Mrs. Carter shook her head.
"I don't know."
Evelyn stepped closer.
The moment she saw the photograph, her expression changed.
She reached for the wall.
"Oh, my God."
I stared at her.
"You know her?"
Evelyn nodded slowly.
"That's Lorraine Price."
My stomach twisted.
Vanessa's mother.
I looked back at the photograph.
Lorraine was smiling.
Her arm rested around my shoulders.
I looked happy.
Safe.
Loved.
I couldn't understand.
"Why was I with her?"
Evelyn's face hardened.
"Because she was involved in taking you."
I stared at the photograph.
My mind raced.
If Lorraine had helped kidnap me, why was she smiling with me years later?
Why had someone preserved the picture?
And why had it been included in my foster care records?
I turned the photograph over.
There was handwriting on the back.
Nia, age five. Last summer together.
I felt sick.
"Last summer together?"
Mrs. Carter touched my arm.
"Baby..."
I looked at Evelyn.
"Did Lorraine raise me?"
Evelyn closed her eyes.
"For several years, we believe she did."
I stared at her.
"Then why did I end up in foster care?"
Evelyn swallowed.
"Lorraine disappeared."
My heart pounded.
"Disappeared?"
"Her family claimed she moved overseas."
I looked at the photograph.
The woman holding me looked like someone who loved me.
But she had apparently helped steal me from my mother.
I couldn't make sense of it.
Detective Brooks returned to the room.
Evelyn showed her the photograph.
The detective examined it carefully.
"Do you know where Lorraine is now?"
Evelyn shook her head.
"She died four years ago."
I looked up sharply.
"How?"
"According to her records, complications from an illness."
I stared at the picture.
Another dead person.
Another missing piece.
Detective Brooks asked permission to examine the photograph and envelope.
I agreed.
Then she turned toward Mrs. Carter.
"Do you remember the social worker who brought Nia to you?"
Mrs. Carter nodded.
"Her name was Patricia Lang."
The detective wrote it down.
"Do you know whether she still works in child services?"
"I don't know."
Evelyn became very still.
"Patricia Lang?"
I looked at her.
"You know her?"
She swallowed.
"I recognize the name."
My heart accelerated.
"From where?"
Evelyn looked toward Detective Brooks.
"She worked in a private adoption agency connected to Harold's legal office."
The room fell silent.
I stared at her.
"You're telling me the woman who placed me in foster care worked for the people who kidnapped me?"
Evelyn nodded.
"I believe so."
I felt my chest tighten.
For years, I'd believed I was an abandoned child.
But now it seemed people had carefully moved me from one home to another.
Changing my name.
Changing my records.
Keeping me hidden.
I looked at Mrs. Carter.
She was crying.
"I didn't know, baby."
I grabbed her hand.
"I know."
And I meant it.
She had loved me without knowing any of this.
Nothing could change that.
Detective Brooks stepped toward the door.
"We need to locate Patricia Lang."
Evelyn nodded.
"I'll have my attorney provide every record we have."
The detective looked at me.
"Nia, there's another matter."
I swallowed.
"What?"
"Vanessa has requested an attorney."
I looked down.
"Of course."
"But before ending the interview, she made a statement."
My stomach tightened.
"What statement?"
Detective Brooks hesitated.
"She claims Lorraine wasn't the person who first took you."
I stared at her.
"Then who was?"
May you like
The detective looked toward Evelyn.
And suddenly, I realized the answer might be someone much closer to my birth mother than I ever imagined.
