Chapter 1 - The Little Girl Who Called Me Mommy
A little girl ran between the wedding tables and shouted:
“Mommy!”
Mike Carter turned toward her as she held an old photograph in one hand.
Two words were written across the back.
FIND JESSICA.
That was when Lauren Hayes stopped smiling.
Five minutes earlier, Lauren had been enjoying herself.
I could tell by the way she watched me.
Not openly.
Women like Lauren rarely gave away that much.
She stood beside my ex-husband with one hand resting lightly against his arm, wearing a champagne-colored dress that probably cost more than my first car and a smile calibrated to look polite from across the room.
Up close, it was something else.
Triumph.
“Jessica Bennett,” Mike had said.
He stretched my maiden name out as though returning something defective.
“I honestly didn't think you possessed the nerve to come.”
I looked at him.
Five years had changed Mike Carter less than I expected.
His blond hair was shorter.
There were faint lines beside his eyes.
His shoulders had filled out beneath the expensive navy suit.
But the expression was the same.
That tiny lift at one corner of his mouth whenever he thought he had the upper hand.
Once, I had found it charming.
Marriage had cured me.
“I was invited,” I said.
Mike glanced toward the flower-covered arch.
“So was half the city.”
“And yet here we both are.”
Lauren gave a small laugh.
Not because anything was funny.
Mike looked at her.
She looked at him.
That effortless exchange between them was supposed to tell me something.
We’re happy.
You lost.
I felt almost sorry for how carefully they were performing it.
Almost.
The wedding belonged to my college friend Natalie Cooper, who had survived two terrible relationships, one disastrous engagement, and twelve years of insisting she would never marry anyone.
Then she met Ben.
Six months later, she called me crying because he had proposed in the produce section of a grocery store.
“Why the produce section?” I had asked.
“He panicked.”
That was Natalie.
Her rooftop wedding overlooked Chicago.
White roses climbed over tall arches.
Glass railings reflected the afternoon light.
A string quartet played near the west terrace while waiters moved between tables with champagne.
It was exactly the kind of beautiful event where nobody wanted a scene.
Mike knew that.
So did I.
Which was why his first insult had been delivered quietly enough that only the three of us heard it.
“Five years,” he said, looking at my bare left hand. “And you're still alone?”
Lauren's smile widened.
I looked down at my hand too.
Then back up.
“Good to see you too, Mike.”
He blinked.
He had wanted embarrassment.
Anger would have worked too.
Anything he could carry home and use as proof that I had never gotten over him.
I gave him nothing.
That bothered him more.
“Some things really don't change,” he said.
“You're right.”
His eyebrows lifted.
I smiled.
“You still need an audience.”
Lauren's expression tightened.
Mike's didn't.
Not immediately.
He leaned a little closer.
“I see therapy gave you confidence.”
“No.”
I took a glass of sparkling water from a passing waiter.
“Divorce did.”
That ended Lauren's smile for approximately three seconds.
Mike laughed.
“Still dramatic.”
“And you're still talking to me five years after you told everyone you were relieved to be free.”
“I'm being civil.”
“Of course.”
I took a sip.
“You always were best at being civil in public.”
Something changed behind his eyes.
There it was.
Not anger.
Recognition.
He remembered.
The quiet dinners after fights.
The parties where he'd touch my lower back and smile for photographs after telling me in the car that I embarrassed him.
The anniversary dinner when I discovered he had been reading my private emails and he convinced our friends I was upset because the restaurant had lost our reservation.
Mike had never liked the version of history where he wasn't reasonable.
He certainly wasn't going to like what happened next.
I heard the child before I saw her.
Small shoes moving quickly across stone.
A chair scraping.
Someone saying, “Careful, sweetheart.”
Then a voice.
Clear.
High.
Certain.
“Mommy!”
I turned.
A little girl was running directly toward me.
She looked seven, maybe eight.
Light brown hair fell from a loose braid over one shoulder.
She wore a dusty-rose velvet dress with tiny pearl buttons at the collar.
One hand held a photograph.
The other reached toward me.
I barely had time to set down my glass.
She hit me around the waist with enough force to make me step backward.
Her arms locked around me.
“Mommy.”
This time she said it against my dress.
The wedding disappeared.
The quartet.
The conversations.
Mike.
Lauren.
Everything.
I looked down at a child I had never seen before.
“Sweetheart?”
She tightened her arms.
“You came.”
My hands hovered above her shoulders.
I didn't know what to do.
Every instinct told me to comfort her.
Every fact told me this was impossible.
I crouched.
“Hey.”
She looked at me.
Her eyes were hazel.
Wet with tears.
Hopeful.
“You're Jessica.”
“Yes.”
Her lower lip trembled.
“I knew it.”
Something cold moved through me.
“What's your name?”
“Lily.”
Behind me, Mike said, “Jessica?”
I ignored him.
“Lily, where are your parents?”
The girl's face changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
“My grandma brought me.”
“Where is she?”
Lily looked over her shoulder.
I followed her gaze.
No older woman was coming.
Guests had begun staring.
Natalie stood near the arch beside Ben, her bridal bouquet lowered.
My friend Rachel Morgan was already walking toward us.
Rachel had been an attorney for fourteen years and carried herself like every room was a deposition waiting to happen.
She reached me first.
“Jess?”
“I don't know.”
Lily looked at Rachel suspiciously and grabbed my hand.
“Mommy said you'd help.”
The word struck differently this time.
Not Mommy as in me.
Mommy.
Someone else.
I looked at Lily.
“Your mommy?”
She nodded.
“What's your mommy's name?”
Before she answered, Mike stepped closer.
“What is going on?”
Lily looked up at him.
Then at Lauren.
That was when I noticed Lauren wasn't merely confused.
She was terrified.
Her face had lost all color.
One hand had risen to her throat.
Her eyes were fixed on the photograph Lily carried.
Not the girl.
The picture.
Mike saw it too.
“Lauren?”
She didn't answer.
I stood slowly.
Lily stayed against my side.
“Do you know her?” I asked.
Lauren swallowed.
“No.”
Too fast.
Rachel noticed.
“Know who?”
“I don't know the child.”
Nobody had accused her of knowing Lily.
I looked down.
“Can I see your picture?”
Lily hesitated.
Then held it out.
It was old.
The edges were soft from being handled.
Three people stood in front of what looked like a lakeside cabin.
A younger woman.
A teenage girl.
And me.
I stopped breathing.
Not literally.
But close.
Because I recognized the day.
Summer of 2008.
Lake Geneva.
My older cousin Amy had taken the picture.
I had been twenty-three.
The woman beside me was my aunt Rebecca.
The teenage girl—
I stared harder.
Red hair.
Freckles.
A crooked smile.
“No.”
Rachel crouched beside me.
“You know them?”
“I know this picture.”
Mike stepped closer.
“What picture?”
I turned it over.
Two words were written in black ink.
FIND JESSICA.
Below them was a telephone number.
And beneath that—
A date.
Three weeks earlier.
“Where did you get this?” I asked.
Lily pointed at the red-haired teenager.
“My mommy.”
I looked at her.
“That's your mother?”
She nodded.
Something began moving at the edge of my memory.
A name I hadn't said in years.
My cousin's friend.
The girl who spent one summer with our family because her own home had fallen apart.
Sixteen years old.
Always reading.
Always watching.
Her name—
“Anna,” I whispered.
Lily's face brightened.
“You know her.”
“Yes.”
Or I had.
Seventeen years earlier.
Anna Reed had disappeared from our lives after that summer.
I remembered asking Aunt Rebecca what happened.
“She moved away,” Rebecca had said.
That was it.
No address.
No goodbye.
No explanation.
And I had been young enough to accept it.
Mike took the photograph from my hand before I could stop him.
“Who is Anna?”
“Give that back.”
He studied it.
Lauren stepped forward.
“Mike.”
He looked at her.
She wasn't looking at him.
She was looking at the girl in the photograph.
Young Anna.
“Lauren?”
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Lily looked between them.
Then she said something that turned every muscle in Lauren's body rigid.
“Mommy said the lady would be scared.”
Mike lowered the photograph.
“What lady?”
Lily pointed.
Straight at Lauren.
Silence moved outward from us.
Not complete silence.
Weddings don't become silent at once.
There were still glasses clinking.
Music.
Traffic far below.
But within ten feet of us, nobody moved.
Lauren stared at Lily's finger.
Then at me.
“You have no idea what she's talking about.”
I stood.
“I haven't said anything.”
“This is ridiculous.”
Mike frowned.
“Why are you upset?”
“I am not upset.”
“You're shaking.”
Lauren looked down.
Her fingers were trembling.
She clenched them.
Rachel moved beside me.
“Lily, sweetheart, where is your grandmother?”
“At the hotel.”
“Why didn't she come with you?”
“She couldn't.”
“Couldn't?”
Lily's confidence vanished.
“She got sick.”
My stomach tightened.
“How did you get here?”
“A lady from the hotel brought me.”
Rachel immediately pulled out her phone.
“Which hotel?”
“The Palmer.”
“Do you know Grandma's name?”
Lily nodded.
“Evelyn Reed.”
Lauren made a sound.
Barely audible.
But Mike heard it.
“So you do know them.”
“No.”
“You reacted to the name.”
“I reacted because this whole thing is insane.”
Mike's eyes narrowed.
It was almost satisfying watching him hear his own favorite word used against someone else.
Almost.
Natalie approached.
Her veil moved behind her in the breeze.
“Jessica, is everything okay?”
“No,” I said. “But I'm so sorry this happened here.”
Natalie glanced at Lily.
Then at Lauren.
Then at Mike.
“This wedding has survived my mother changing the seating chart six times and Ben's brother losing the rings for forty minutes.”
Ben called from behind her, “They weren't lost.”
Natalie ignored him.
“We'll survive this.”
That was why I loved her.
Rachel finished speaking to the hotel.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
She covered the phone.
“They have an Evelyn Reed registered.”
“Is she there?”
“They're sending security upstairs. She hasn't answered the room phone since this afternoon.”
Lily grabbed my hand harder.
“Grandma was sleeping.”
“Was she sick before?”
“She said her heart hurt.”
Rachel immediately spoke into the phone again.
I crouched in front of Lily.
“Listen to me. We're going to make sure Grandma gets help.”
She nodded.
Her eyes filled.
“Mommy said you would.”
There it was again.
I took her hands.
“Where is your mom, Lily?”
Her eyes dropped.
“I don't know.”
“When did you last see her?”
“Tuesday.”
Today was Saturday.
“What happened Tuesday?”
“She left.”
“Where?”
“She said she had to fix something.”
Lauren abruptly turned away.
Mike caught her wrist lightly.
“Where are you going?”
“I need air.”
“We're outside.”
“Mike.”
He released her.
But his face had changed.
The smugness was gone.
So was the performance.
For the first time since I had known him, he looked at Lauren the way he used to look at me when he thought I wasn't making sense.
Searching.
Testing.
Looking for the lie.
Rachel touched my elbow.
“The hotel called emergency services.”
“Good.”
“There's more.”
I looked at her.
“They found an envelope at the front desk. Evelyn left instructions that if anything happened to her, it was to be given to Jessica Bennett.”
My throat tightened.
Mike heard.
“So this was planned.”
“No,” Lauren said.
Everyone looked at her.
She realized her mistake instantly.
Mike's voice lowered.
“What do you mean, no?”
Lauren stared at him.
“I mean this cannot possibly be what you think.”
“I don't think anything yet.”
“You are looking at me like—”
“Like you know why a woman I've never heard of left an envelope for my ex-wife?”
Lauren's eyes flashed.
“This has nothing to do with Jessica.”
Lily spoke softly beside me.
“Yes, it does.”
Lauren looked down.
Lily held the photograph against her chest.
“My mommy said Jessica was the only person who could prove it.”
“Prove what?” I asked.
Lily frowned.
“I don't remember.”
Then she reached into the tiny velvet purse hanging from her shoulder.
“I have this.”
She pulled out a folded piece of paper.
Lauren lunged one step forward.
Not toward Lily.
Toward the paper.
Rachel immediately moved between them.
“Don't.”
Lauren froze.
Mike stared at her.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“You just tried to take something from a child.”
“I was trying to see it.”
I unfolded the paper.
It was a photocopy.
The top had been torn.
Most of the text was faded.
But I recognized one thing immediately.
Mike's name.
MICHAEL CARTER.
My hands went cold.
Beneath his name was mine.
JESSICA BENNETT CARTER.
And beside both names—
A child's date of birth.
Seven years earlier.
I looked at Lily.
Then at Mike.
His face had gone blank.
“That isn't possible,” he said.
I read the line again.
It wasn't a birth certificate.
It looked like an authorization form.
A private adoption agency.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
Except I had never signed it.
“Jessica?”
Mike reached for the page.
I pulled it away.
“I didn't sign this.”
“What is it?”
“I don't know yet.”
Lauren whispered, “It's fake.”
I looked at her.
“How would you know?”
She said nothing.
Rachel held out her hand.
“Let me see.”
I gave her the page.
She scanned it.
Her expression hardened.
“This is a consent-to-contact waiver.”
“For what?”
She looked at Lily.
“For an adoption file.”
Mike stared at me.
“You had a child?”
The stupidity of the question almost made me laugh.
“No.”
“Then why is your name—”
“I don't know.”
Lauren backed away.
One step.
Then another.
Her phone rang.
She looked down.
Whatever appeared on the screen made her go completely still.
Mike saw that too.
“Who is it?”
“Nobody.”
“Answer it.”
“I said it's nobody.”
Her phone rang again.
This time Lily looked at the screen.
Then at Lauren.
And whispered:
“That's my mommy's number.”
Lauren's hand went limp.
The phone nearly fell.
Mike reached for it.
She pulled back.
Too late.
He had already seen the caller's name.
ANNA REED.
Lauren stared at him.
Mike stared at the phone.
Then the call stopped.
A message appeared.
Only five words.
YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD THEM.
Lauren's face collapsed.
And before any of us could speak, another message arrived.
May you like
This one was addressed to me.
Jessica, don't let Lauren leave.
