Chapter 15 - THE DAUGHTER WHO SURVIVED
Z
I thought Adrian was lying.
I wanted him to be lying.
Because the alternative was too cruel.
Too impossible.
Grace Callahan had been dead for thirteen years.
Ethan had grieved her.
Buried her.
Built his entire life around losing her.
I stared through the glass.
“Say that again.”
Adrian swallowed.
“Grace wasn’t in the car.”
“Then where was she?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“My father mentioned it once when he was drunk.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“That Patrick had taken the child before the crash.”
My blood turned cold.
“Why?”
“Leverage.”
“Against who?”
“Eleanor.”
I sat down again.
Adrian continued.
“Roman said Patrick planned to use Grace against the Callahans. Then the crash happened. Isabelle died. Everyone assumed the baby died too.”
“Was there a body?”
“I don’t know.”
Neither did I.
I had never asked.
Who asks a father whether he saw his dead infant’s body?
I left the room feeling sick.
Ethan waited outside.
One look at my face and he knew something had happened.
“What?”
I couldn’t say it.
“Rachel.”
“Sit down.”
“No.”
“Ethan.”
His eyes sharpened.
I grabbed his hand.
“Adrian says Grace didn’t die in the crash.”
Everything stopped.
Not metaphorically.
Ethan actually stopped moving.
His fingers went cold in mine.
“What?”
“He says Patrick took her before the accident.”
“No.”
“That’s what Roman told Adrian.”
“No.”
“I know.”
“No.”
His voice cracked.
I had never heard that sound from him.
Not once.
“I buried her.”
My heart broke.
“I know.”
“There was a coffin.”
“Did you see her?”
His face went white.
“No.”
“Why?”
“She was burned.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Closed casket.
Unverified remains.
A family powerful enough to control investigations.
A perfect lie.
Ethan pulled his hand away.
“This is Roman manipulating us.”
“Maybe.”
“Grace is dead.”
“Maybe.”
“Rachel.”
“I’m not telling you to believe it.”
He turned away.
“I can’t.”
“I know.”
“If she’s alive…”
He couldn’t finish.
I stood beside him.
“If she’s alive, we find her.”
His eyes closed.
“And if she isn’t?”
“Then we survive learning the truth.”
We went back to the mansion.
Eleanor was gone, but her old records remained.
Declan searched everything connected to the crash.
Hospital reports.
Police documents.
Coroner files.
Insurance records.
Three hours later, he found the first inconsistency.
No DNA confirmation.
The body identified as Grace had been listed using dental records.
For an eight-month-old.
“That makes no sense,” I said.
Declan nodded.
“Exactly.”
The record was fabricated.
Ethan stared at the screen.
“Who signed it?”
Declan zoomed in.
A doctor.
Dead now.
But the witness signature belonged to Margaret.
Silence.
No.
Not again.
We found Margaret in Wisconsin.
A farmhouse near Madison.
She opened the door before we knocked.
Like she had been waiting.
Ethan stood in front.
I stayed beside him.
Margaret looked at his face and immediately started crying.
“Oh, Ethan.”
“Is Grace alive?”
No hello.
No accusation.
Just the question.
Margaret covered her mouth.
That was enough.
Ethan nearly collapsed.
I caught his arm.
“Where is she?”
Margaret cried harder.
“Where is my daughter?”
“I don’t know.”
He slammed his hand against the doorframe.
“You signed the identification!”
“I was trying to keep her alive!”
“How?”
She stepped back.
“Come inside.”
We did.
Nobody sat.
Margaret spoke.
“Patrick came to me the morning before the crash. He said Eleanor was planning to remove Isabelle.”
“Remove?”
“Send her away. Threaten her. I didn’t know how far it would go.”
“You arranged the truck.”
“Yes.”
“And Grace?”
“Patrick took her.”
“Why?”
“To force Eleanor to stop.”
My stomach turned.
Patrick had kidnapped an infant to control his sister-in-law.
Normal Callahan family problem.
Margaret continued.
“Then Isabelle died.”
“What happened to Grace?”
“Patrick panicked. He knew Ethan would tear the city apart.”
Ethan’s voice dropped.
“I did.”
“I know.”
“Where did he take her?”
“A couple in Canada.”
My pulse jumped.
“What couple?”
“I don’t know their real names.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I swear.”
Ethan stepped closer.
“Thirteen years.”
Margaret sobbed.
“I thought she was safe.”
“You let me bury an empty coffin.”
“I thought knowing would get her killed.”
“You let me hate myself.”
“I know.”
“You watched me stand at her grave every year.”
“I know.”
I couldn’t look at Ethan.
There was grief.
Then there was what this was.
Grief resurrected.
A dead child becoming possible.
It was almost worse.
Margaret handed him an envelope.
“Patrick sent me one picture.”
Inside was a photograph of a toddler.
Dark hair.
Blue eyes.
Maybe two years old.
On the back:
SHE’S SAFE. KEEP ETHAN AWAY.
Ethan’s hands shook.
He pressed the picture to his chest.
For the first time since I met him, he openly cried.
Not one tear.
Not controlled.
He broke.
I wrapped my arms around him.
Margaret turned away.
I held him until he could stand.
Then his phone rang.
Declan.
Ethan couldn’t answer.
I did.
“Declan?”
“We found a match.”
My heart slammed.
“What?”
“The photograph. Facial recognition across school databases and public records.”
Ethan looked at me.
I put the phone on speaker.
Declan continued.
“Girl named Grace Bennett. Thirteen years old. Lives outside Toronto.”
Ethan stopped breathing.
“Parents?”
“Adoptive. Michael and Sarah Bennett.”
“Are they connected?”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“Is she safe?”
“As far as I can tell.”
Ethan grabbed the phone.
“Send me everything.”
“Already did.”
A picture arrived.
Teenage girl.
Dark hair.
Blue eyes.
Same expression Ethan made when annoyed.
My hand covered my mouth.
“Oh my God.”
Ethan stared.
His face became something I had never seen.
Hope.
Pure, terrified hope.
Then Declan said:
“There’s one problem.”
Ethan looked up.
“What?”
“They’re gone.”
“What do you mean?”
“The house is empty.”
My heart dropped.
“How long?”
“Neighbors say they left yesterday.”
“Where?”
“Nobody knows.”
Then another message appeared.
A photograph.
May you like
Grace standing beside an SUV.
Behind her was Eleanor Callahan.
