Chapter 4 - Julian Came Home Smiling
I stared at the address on my phone.
It was only twenty minutes away.
An old private residence on the edge of town.
The message contained no name.
No explanation.
Just an address.
COME ALONE.
I looked at Julian.
He was still standing beside the library desk, his face drained of color.
“Who sent that?”
“I don't know.”
“Give me the phone.”
“No.”
“Clarissa.”
“You've had twenty years to tell me the truth.”
His jaw tightened.
“I was trying to protect you.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it's true.”
“Then protect me now.”
I held up the phone.
“Tell me what is waiting at this address.”
He didn't answer.
That was enough.
I walked past him.
He caught my arm.
“Don't go.”
I looked down at his hand.
He released me.
“Please.”
The word sounded strange coming from Julian.
He had never begged me for anything.
Not in twenty years.
I walked toward the front door.
“Where are you going?”
“To find my daughter.”
His face changed.
“Clarissa, you don't even know if that girl is—”
I turned.
“Alive?”
He stopped.
I finished the sentence for him.
“You already told me she survived.”
His eyes lowered.
I opened the front door.
Then Julian said something that made me stop.
“If you go there, you may learn why Evelyn lied to both of us.”
I slowly turned around.
“Both of us?”
He looked at me.
“I wasn't the only person she deceived.”
I wanted to ask what he meant.
Instead, I walked out.
The night air hit my face.
I drove without calling anyone.
Every few minutes, I looked at the photograph on my passenger seat.
The young woman.
The little girl.
The silver necklace.
I had stared at that necklace for years.
It had been a tiny gift from Evelyn.
She had bought it before my daughter was born.
A delicate silver chain with a small oval pendant.
She had told me it was a family tradition.
I remembered putting it around my baby's neck.
I remembered kissing her forehead.
I remembered Julian taking her from my arms.
Then everything became blurred.
The hospital lights.
The doctor's voice.
Julian telling me she hadn't survived.
The empty room.
The funeral.
The silence.
I had never questioned it.
Because I had trusted my husband.
And because grief had made me desperate to believe whatever would allow me to breathe again.
Twenty years later, I was driving toward an address because a stranger had told me my dead daughter might know who I was.
I reached the property at 11:47 p.m.
The house was small.
Nothing like Julian's mansion.
One floor.
White siding.
A narrow porch.
No lights in the windows.
I parked across the street.
I didn't get out immediately.
I watched.
Nothing moved.
Then the porch light switched on.
I flinched.
A woman stepped outside.
She was around thirty.
Long blonde hair.
Pale skin.
Thin face.
She looked directly at my car.
I couldn't breathe.
She wasn't the woman in the photograph.
But there was something about her.
Something familiar.
She raised one hand.
Then pointed toward the house.
I got out.
My legs felt weak.
I crossed the street.
The woman opened the door before I reached it.
“Clarissa?”
I nodded.
She stepped aside.
“Come in.”
Her voice was soft.
I entered.
The house smelled like coffee and old books.
There was a small living room.
A kitchen.
A staircase.
Nothing unusual.
Except for one framed photograph on the wall.
I stopped.
It showed Evelyn.
Younger.
Maybe thirty-five.
Beside her stood a man I didn't recognize.
And in Evelyn's arms was a baby.
The same baby from the photograph.
My daughter.
I touched the frame.
“Where did you get this?”
The woman closed the door.
“From my mother.”
I turned.
“Who is your mother?”
She didn't answer.
Instead, she walked toward a small cabinet.
She opened it.
Inside was a box.
She carried it to the table.
“Evelyn left this with me six years ago.”
I stared at her.
“Six years?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't she give it to me?”
“She wasn't ready.”
I almost laughed.
“She's dead now.”
“I know.”
“Then why bring me here?”
The woman opened the box.
Inside were letters.
Dozens of them.
Some were addressed to me.
Some to Julian.
Others had no names.
I picked up the first envelope.
My name was written across it.
CLARISSA.
My hands began shaking.
“Who are you?”
The woman looked at me.
“My name is Nora.”
“Nora what?”
“Nora Bell.”
The name meant nothing to me.
She seemed to notice my confusion.
“You've never met me.”
“No.”
“But Evelyn did.”
I opened the letter.
The first line made my stomach twist.
If Clarissa ever comes looking for her daughter, tell her the truth about the morning she was born.
I looked at Nora.
“What truth?”
“You need to read everything.”
“Tell me.”
Nora hesitated.
“Your daughter wasn't supposed to leave the hospital.”
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
“She was born healthy.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“She was?”
“Yes.”
“She was alive?”
“Yes.”
I pressed my palm against my mouth.
For twenty years, I had imagined my baby's final moments.
A weak cry.
A tiny heartbeat.
A nurse shaking her head.
But now a stranger was telling me something completely different.
“She was healthy,” Nora repeated.
“Then what happened?”
Nora looked away.
“Your husband came into the nursery at 3:12 a.m.”
My heart stopped.
“Julian?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He wasn't alone.”
“Who was with him?”
Nora didn't answer.
Instead, she pushed another photograph across the table.
It showed a hospital corridor.
Julian stood near the nursery.
Beside him was Evelyn.
And beside Evelyn stood the blonde woman from the earlier photograph.
Vanessa.
But there was something else.
A fourth person.
A man.
His face had been scratched out.
I picked up the photograph.
“Who is this?”
“We don't know.”
“You don't know?”
“Evelyn spent years trying to find him.”
I turned the photograph over.
There was writing on the back.
R-17.
My fingers tightened.
“Why does everyone keep calling this R-17?”
Nora sat across from me.
“Because that wasn't your daughter's name.”
“What?”
“It was her hospital designation.”
I stared at her.
“Why would a baby have a designation?”
“Because she wasn't the only baby involved.”
The room suddenly felt smaller.
“What do you mean?”
Nora took a slow breath.
“There were two babies.”
I couldn't speak.
“Two?”
“Twins.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“You were told you had one daughter.”
“Yes.”
“You gave birth to two.”
My chair scraped backward.
“No.”
“You had twins, Clarissa.”
I stood.
“I would know if I had twins.”
“You were unconscious.”
“No.”
“Your medical records were changed.”
I stared at her.
“My records?”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
Nora looked toward the box.
“Evelyn believed Julian's father arranged it.”
I felt dizzy.
“My father-in-law?”
“He had influence at the hospital.”
“But why?”
Nora's eyes filled with sadness.
“Because one of the babies wasn't supposed to exist.”
I gripped the table.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“I wish I were.”
I picked up another letter.
This one was addressed to Julian.
The envelope had never been opened.
I tore it open.
Inside was one page.
Julian,
You will hate me for what I have done. You will believe I betrayed you. But one day you will understand that I had no other choice.
Your father wanted both babies separated. He believed one belonged to the family and one did not.
I saved one child.
I failed to save the other.
I stopped.
The next line was underlined.
And Clarissa must never learn that the child she buried was not hers.
The letter fell from my hand.
I stared at Nora.
“The funeral…”
She nodded.
“There was no baby in that coffin.”
My knees gave out.
Nora rushed toward me.
I sat on the floor, unable to breathe.
Twenty years.
Twenty years of grief.
Twenty years of visiting a grave.
Twenty years of believing I had failed my child.
There had never been a body.
There had never been a funeral for my daughter.
I had been mourning a lie.
I covered my face.
Nora knelt beside me.
“I am sorry.”
“Where is she?”
Nora went silent.
I lowered my hands.
“Where is my daughter?”
She looked at me.
“I don't know.”
My heart shattered again.
“But Evelyn did.”
I stood slowly.
“What happened to her?”
“She found her.”
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
“Why didn't she tell me?”
“Because she was afraid.”
“Of Julian?”
Nora shook her head.
“Of the woman who raised your daughter.”
My blood ran cold.
“Who raised her?”
Nora looked toward the photograph on the wall.
The little girl.
The silver necklace.
Then she whispered:
“Vanessa.”
I stared at the photograph.
“But Vanessa is dead.”
“Yes.”
“Then who has my daughter?”
Nora's expression changed.
“I never said your daughter was still with Vanessa.”
My phone vibrated.
Both of us looked down.
Unknown number.
A new photograph.
This time, it was clearer.
A young woman stood in front of a mirror.
She was about twenty years old.
Long dark hair.
A small scar above her left eyebrow.
Around her neck was the silver necklace.
My necklace.
My daughter's necklace.
I stepped closer to the screen.
The woman's face looked strangely familiar.
Then I noticed something else.
She was wearing a thin bracelet.
I knew that bracelet.
I had given it to my daughter the day she was born.
Except I had never been able to put it on her.
Julian had taken it away.
I stared at the screen.
A message appeared beneath the photograph.
SHE HAS BEEN WATCHING YOU FOR THREE YEARS.
Another message appeared.
SHE KNOWS YOU ARE HER MOTHER.
My heart pounded.
I typed with shaking fingers.
WHERE IS SHE?
The reply came immediately.
ASK JULIAN WHY HE NEVER TOLD YOU ABOUT THE SECOND BABY.
I looked at Nora.
Then at the front door.
A car had just stopped outside.
Headlights swept across the curtains.
Nora's face went white.
“Who is that?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
The car door opened.
Footsteps approached the porch.
Slow.
Deliberate.
I reached for the box of letters.
Nora grabbed my arm.
“Don't let them see those.”
“Who?”
She didn't answer.
The doorknob began to turn.
Then a man's voice came through the door.
“Clarissa.”
I knew that voice.
Julian.
But before I could move, Nora whispered something that made my blood run cold.
“He wasn't supposed to know you came here.”
The door opened an inch.
May you like
Then Julian said a name I had never heard before—
“R-17…”
