Chapter 5
They arrested Ryan at dawn.
I wanted to watch.
Harris told me not to.
I watched anyway from an unmarked car across the street.
Ryan came out of his townhome in a navy suit, carrying coffee like it was any normal morning.
Two officers stepped in front of him.
He looked irritated.
Then he saw the cuffs.
His face changed.
Not guilt.
Offense.
As if consequences were a personal insult.
Celeste watched from the doorway, crying.
I felt nothing for her.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Thomas sat beside me in the back seat with headphones over his ears.
No music played.
He just wanted the world quieter.
Emily held his hand.
When Ryan was placed in the patrol car, Thomas whispered, “He knew me.”
“Yes.”
“He didn’t want me.”
I turned to him.
“That is his failure. Not yours.”
Thomas looked at the floor.
“Marla said boys get thrown away when they’re too much.”
I cupped his face.
“You are not too much. You are my son.”
His eyes searched mine.
Like he wanted to believe but belief hurt.
The search of Marla’s old house began that afternoon.
Harris called me at six.
His voice was grim.
“We found the box.”
Inside were my missing letters to the hospital.
Letters I wrote during the investigation.
Letters begging for answers.
Letters Ryan told me were useless.
There were photos of Thomas.
Hospital documents.
A forged death certificate.
And payment records.
Ryan had paid Marla every month for seven years.
Not much at first.
Then more when Thomas got older.
Then less six months ago.
That was when Marla began moving.
That was when Thomas said food became scarce.
That was when Ryan decided his secret was too expensive.
“What about Marla?” I asked.
“Still missing.”
But she was not missing for long.
Three days later, police found her at a motel outside Indianapolis with two fake IDs and a stack of cash.
She was arrested without a fight.
When they brought her back, Harris asked if I wanted to see her.
I said no.
Then I said yes.
I did not go into the room.
I watched behind glass.
Marla looked smaller than in my memories.
Older.
Gray hair at the roots.
Nurse’s hands folded neatly on the table.
Harris placed Thomas’s photo in front of her.
“Why?”
Marla stared at the picture.
“Ryan said the mother was unstable.”
“You believed him?”
“He had paperwork.”
“You were a nurse. You knew the paperwork was false.”
She said nothing.
Harris leaned closer.
“You kept a child for seven years.”
Marla’s face twisted.
“I fed him.”
“You starved him.”
“I clothed him.”
“He was found in torn shoes.”
“I protected him.”
Harris’s voice turned cold.
“From his mother?”
Marla looked away.
Then she said, “Ryan said if I gave him back, he would report what I did with the first baby.”
The first baby.
My skin went cold.
Harris went still.
“What first baby?”
May you like
Marla closed her eyes.
“I want a lawyer.”
