PART 2.
The little girl’s fingers tightened around the fork as she stared toward the bakery door.
“She told me never to let anyone ask questions about it,” Lena whispered.
Jack could barely breathe.
The crescent-shaped birthmark was exactly where Callie’s had been.
The same blue eyes watched him now, frightened and uncertain.
Three years of searching, grieving, and refusing to surrender crashed into a single impossible thought.
His missing daughter might have been sitting across from him all along.
And somewhere outside, the woman Lena called “Mommy” might already know Jack had found her.
For several seconds, Jack Cooper couldn’t move.
The bakery continued around him as though nothing had happened.
Cups clinked.
The espresso machine hissed.
A man near the window laughed into his phone.
Jack heard none of it.
His eyes remained fixed on the child sitting across from him.
Callie.
No.
Lena.
He had to keep calling her Lena.
At least for now.
“Does your mommy know you came inside?” he asked quietly.
Lena looked down.
“She was sleeping.”
“Where?”
Another hesitation.
“In the car.”
Jack’s pulse accelerated.
“What car?”
Lena pointed through the window.
“There.”
Jack turned.
Across the street, near the entrance to a narrow alley, stood an old gray station wagon.
The windows were dark.
The vehicle looked empty.
Jack’s stomach tightened.
“How long has she been sleeping?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she tell you to come get food?”
Lena shook her head.
“She said we didn’t have money.”
Her small fingers touched the filthy shoes she had offered him minutes earlier.
“So I thought maybe somebody would trade.”
Jack had to look away.
He wanted to cross the table, wrap his arms around her, and never let go.
But what if he was wrong?
What if grief had finally broken something inside him?
A birthmark could be coincidence.
Blue eyes could be coincidence.
The age.
The mannerisms.
Even the phrase “moon mark.”
Individually, perhaps.
Together?
His hands began trembling again.
He reached slowly into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone.
Lena immediately stiffened.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing bad.”
“You’re calling somebody.”
Jack stopped.
Her fear was instant and unmistakable.
“No police,” she whispered.
Jack’s heart sank.
“Why not?”
“Mommy says police separate families.”
He stared at her.
“She says if people ask questions, I have to run.”
“Why?”
“Because bad people are looking for us.”
The answer chilled him.
“What bad people?”
Lena lifted her eyes.
For one horrifying second, Jack thought she was going to point at him.
Instead, she whispered, “My old family.”
The bakery seemed to tilt.
Jack gripped the edge of the table.
“Your… old family?”
Lena nodded.
“Mommy says they hurt her.”
Jack’s voice became dangerously unsteady.
“Did she ever tell you their names?”
“No.”
“Did she tell you your old name?”
Lena’s face changed.
Not much.
Just enough.
Jack saw it.
She knew something.
“Lena.”
She picked at the cake.
“Sometimes I had another name.”
Jack’s throat closed.
“What name?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You can tell me.”
“I don’t remember.”
She said it louder this time.
The clerk looked over.
Jack lowered his voice immediately.
“It’s okay.
I’m sorry.”
Lena stared down at the blue frosting.
Then, almost inaudibly, she said, “Cally.”
Jack stopped breathing.
The word struck him like a bullet.
“What?”
She frowned.
“I don’t know.
Maybe.”
“Say it again.”
“Cally.”
His chair scraped backward.
A woman at another table glanced toward him.
Jack stood, then forced himself to sit again.
Callie.
Her name had been Callie.
Callie Elizabeth Cooper.
The police had searched nationally.
Her photograph had appeared on television.
For six months, reporters had camped outside his house.
Then a year passed.
Then two.
Then three.
The world moved on.
Jack never did.
He covered his mouth with one hand.
Lena watched him nervously.
“Mister Jack?”
He lowered his hand.
“Lena, how old are you?”
“Six.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“Mommy says March.”
Jack’s skin turned cold.
Callie’s birthday was March 17.
“What day?”
Lena shrugged.
“We don’t really do birthdays.”
Jack closed his eyes.
He couldn’t wait anymore.
He stood.
“Stay here.”
Lena immediately slid off her chair.
“No.”
“Please.”
“You’re leaving.”
“I’m just talking to the lady at the counter.”
Her breathing quickened.
“No.”
Jack recognized panic when he saw it.
He crouched until they were eye level.
“I’m not leaving you.”
The words hurt.
He had said something similar three years ago.
Stay here, peanut.
Daddy’s getting your water bottle.
He had walked twelve feet to a vending cart.
Twelve feet.
Less than a minute.
When he turned around, Callie was gone.
He had relived those seconds thousands of times.
Now Lena stared at him.
“You promise?”
Jack’s eyes burned.
“I promise.”
She slowly returned to her chair.
Jack went to the counter.
The clerk met him halfway.
“I already called the police,” she whispered.
Jack froze.
“You what?”
“I’m sorry.
Something’s wrong here.
That child is terrified.”
“When?”
“Two minutes ago.”
Jack looked toward Lena.
She was watching him.
Then he looked through the bakery window.
The gray station wagon was still across the street.
“Did you tell them about the car?”
“What car?”
Jack pointed.
The clerk looked.
Her face changed.
A woman had appeared beside the station wagon.
Tall.
Thin.
Dark coat.
Brown hair tucked beneath a knitted cap.
She stood completely still.
Watching the bakery.
Jack felt the blood drain from his face.
“Is that her mother?” the clerk asked.
Jack didn’t know.
Lena did.
The child screamed.
“Mommy!”
She jumped from the chair.
Jack reacted instinctively.
He stepped into her path.
“Wait.”
Lena recoiled.
“Move!”
“Lena—”
“MOVE!”
The little girl darted around him and ran toward the entrance.
At the same moment, the woman across the street opened the car door.
“Callie!”
The name escaped Jack before he could stop it.
The girl froze.
Everything stopped.
Her hand was inches from the bakery door.
Slowly, she turned.
Jack saw confusion on her face.
Then fear.
Then something else.
Recognition.
Not of him.
Of the name.
“Why did you call me that?”
Jack’s voice broke.
“Because I think that was your name.”
Across the street, the woman began running.
Toward them.
“Lena!” she shouted.
The child turned again.
“Mommy!”
Jack moved toward the door.
The clerk grabbed his arm.
“The police are coming.”
The woman reached the bakery first.
She pulled open the door and rushed inside.
Up close, Jack saw she was perhaps thirty-five.
Exhausted.
Pale.
Her eyes were wild with terror.
She grabbed Lena and pulled the child behind her.
“What did you do?”
Jack stared at her.
“Who are you?”
“You stay away from my daughter.”
“Her name is Callie.”
The woman went white.
It was the confirmation Jack hadn’t wanted.
Or perhaps had wanted more than anything.
Her reaction told him everything.
“You know that name,” Jack whispered.
The woman backed away.
“Lena, we’re leaving.”
Jack blocked the doorway.
“No.”
“Move.”
“That child disappeared three years ago.”
People throughout the bakery had gone silent.
The woman’s eyes shifted from Jack to the windows.
Calculating.
Searching for an exit.
Jack saw it.
So did the clerk.
“You’re not taking her anywhere,” Jack said.
The woman suddenly looked furious.
“You think you know what happened?”
“I know my daughter vanished.”
“Your daughter?”
Her expression changed again.
She stared at his face.
Really stared.
Then horror entered her eyes.
“Oh God.”
Jack felt ice slide through his veins.
“What?”
“You’re Jack Cooper.”
“You know who I am.”
The woman grabbed Lena tighter.
“Mister Jack?”
Lena whispered.
The woman looked down sharply.
“He told you his name?”
Lena nodded.
The woman closed her eyes.
For a moment, she looked less like a kidnapper and more like someone whose worst nightmare had finally arrived.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
She flinched.
“No.”
She pulled Lena toward the door.
Jack refused to move.
“Tell me who you are.”
The woman stared at him.
“My name is Mara.”
“Did you take Callie?”
Mara’s jaw tightened.
“Not the way you think.”
“Then tell me the way I should think.”
The sirens were getting louder.
Mara looked at Lena.
Then at Jack.
“You want the truth?”
“Yes.”
“You won’t believe me.”
“Try.”
Mara stepped closer.
Her voice fell to a whisper.
“I didn’t steal your daughter.”
Jack’s fists clenched.
“Then who did?”
Mara looked directly into his eyes.
“Your wife.”
Jack stopped.
For a moment, he genuinely believed he had misheard her.
“My wife is dead.”
“I know.”
“Sarah died eighteen months after Callie disappeared.”
“I know that too.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“I know she died in a car accident on Interstate 84.”
Jack stared.
That detail had been public.
But Mara continued.
“I know the accident happened at 2:13 in the morning.”
His anger faltered.
That detail had not been public.
“I know she was driving east when she was supposed to be at home.”
Jack’s mouth went dry.
“How do you know that?”
Mara’s expression became almost pitying.
“Because she was coming to meet me.”
The sirens stopped outside.
Blue lights flashed through the bakery windows.
Two officers entered.
“Everybody stay where you are.”
Lena began crying.
Mara knelt immediately.
“It’s okay, sweetheart.”
“No police,” Lena sobbed.
Mara held her face.
“Listen to me.
Remember what I taught you.”
Jack’s stomach turned.
“What did you teach her?”
Mara ignored him.
A police officer approached.
“Ma’am, step away from the child.”
Mara stood slowly.
“Officer, this is complicated.”
“Hands where I can see them.”
She obeyed.
Jack looked at Lena.
The girl was shaking.
He wanted to comfort her, but now even he wasn’t sure what was happening.
One officer separated Mara from Lena.
Another asked Jack to step back.
“Sir, were you the one who called?”
“The clerk did.”
“Your relationship to the child?”
Jack looked directly at Lena.
“I believe she’s my daughter.”
The officer paused.
“What?”
“My daughter, Callie Cooper, disappeared three years ago.”
Recognition flashed across the officer’s face.
Nearly everyone in the state had heard the case.
The officer turned toward Lena.
Then toward Mara.
Mara said nothing.
Within twenty minutes, the bakery had become a crime scene.
Detectives arrived.
Child services arrived.
An ambulance arrived.
And Jack found himself sitting inside a police car while Lena cried from the back of another vehicle.
He kept watching her.
She kept watching Mara.
Not him.
That hurt more than he expected.
Biology did not erase three years.
If Lena truly was Callie, then Jack was a stranger.
Mara was Mommy.
A detective named Brooks crouched beside the open police-car door.
“Mr.
Cooper.”
Jack looked up.
“We need you at the station.”
“What about her?”
“We’re taking the child to St.
Matthew’s Hospital for evaluation.”
“I’m coming.”
“Not yet.”
“That’s my daughter.”
“We don’t know that yet.”
Jack almost laughed.
The moon mark.
The name.
Mara’s reaction.
They knew.
Everyone knew.
But Brooks was right.
They needed proof.
At the station, Jack gave a DNA sample.
Then he sat in an interview room beneath fluorescent lights and answered questions he had answered hundreds of times three years earlier.
Where had Callie disappeared?
Who had seen her last?
What had Sarah been doing that day?
Had his marriage been troubled?
That question made him look up.
“No.”
Detective Brooks leaned back.
“Never?”
“We argued like everyone.”
“About what?”
“Money.
Work.
Parenting.”
“Did your wife ever threaten to leave?”
“No.”
“Take Callie?”
“No.”
Brooks opened a folder.
“Mara Bennett says otherwise.”
Jack stared.
“You interviewed her?”
“She’s being interviewed.”
“What did she say?”
Brooks didn’t answer.
Instead, he slid a photograph across the table.
Jack looked down.
His heart stopped.
Sarah.
His dead wife.
She was standing beside Mara.
The photograph appeared to have been taken years ago outside a café.
They were smiling.
Jack picked it up.
“What is this?”
“Recognize the other woman?”
“Mara.”
“Did you know your wife knew her?”
“No.”
The detective placed another photograph down.
Sarah and Mara again.
This time beside the gray station wagon.
A toddler sat in the back seat.
Only part of the child’s face was visible.
Jack knew immediately.
Callie.
His fingers began trembling.
“No.”
“There’s more,” Brooks said.
Jack looked up.
“Where did you get these?”
“Mara had them.”
Brooks placed a small digital recorder on the table.
“She also had this.”
“What is it?”
“A recording.”
“Of what?”
“Your wife.”
Jack’s heart hammered.
Brooks pressed play.
Static filled the room.
Then Sarah’s voice.
Jack hadn’t heard it in years.
He nearly collapsed.
“If Jack ever finds out, he’ll never understand.”
A second voice answered.
Mara.
“Then tell him.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t let him think she was kidnapped forever.”
Sarah began crying.
“You don’t know him.”
Jack stared at the recorder.
Mara spoke again.
“He loves her.”
“That’s the problem.”
Jack looked at Brooks.
The recording continued.
Sarah’s voice shook.
“He’ll never let her go.”
“Why should he?”
Silence.
Then Sarah whispered something that turned Jack’s entire body cold.
“Because Callie isn’t his daughter.”
Brooks stopped the recording.
Jack stared at him.
Nothing in the room seemed real anymore.
“That’s fake.”
“We’re having it authenticated.”
“Sarah would never say that.”
Brooks said nothing.
“That’s fake!”
Jack stood so quickly the chair fell backward.
The detective remained calm.
“Sit down.”
“My daughter was taken from me!”
“Sit down, Mr.
Cooper.”
“My wife spent eighteen months grieving!”
“Maybe.”
Jack froze.
“What does that mean?”
Brooks folded his hands.
“Mara claims your wife arranged Callie’s disappearance.”
“No.”
“She says Sarah contacted her six months beforehand.”
“No.”
“She says Sarah believed someone was threatening Callie.”
“Who?”
Brooks held Jack’s gaze.
“You.”
The room went silent.
Jack actually smiled.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the accusation was so absurd his mind refused to process it.
“Me.”
“Yes.”
“I never hurt Callie.”
“I’m telling you what Mara alleges.”
“I loved that child more than anything in this world.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
Jack leaned toward him.
“I destroyed my life looking for her.”
Brooks studied him.
Then asked a strange question.
“Mr.
Cooper, do you remember the night of August 14, 2018?”
Jack frowned.
“That was years before Callie disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Your wife apparently did.”
Brooks opened another folder.
Inside was a hospital record.
Jack read the date.
August 15, 2018.
Sarah Cooper.
Emergency department.
He scanned downward.
Contusions.
Fractured wrist.
Head trauma.
Jack looked up.
“I never saw this.”
“The report says she fell down a staircase.”
Jack’s mouth went dry.
“She never broke her wrist.”
Brooks slid another page forward.
Different name.
Sarah Miller.
Her maiden name.
Jack felt dizzy.
“She went under her maiden name?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We hoped you could tell us.”
Jack shook his head.
“No.”
Then something flickered in his memory.
August 2018.
A hotel conference in Chicago.
A flight delay.
Coming home unexpectedly.
Sarah frightened.
A broken wineglass in the kitchen.
A bruise near her temple.
She had told him she slipped in the shower.
Jack had believed her.
Or thought he had.
“Mr.
Cooper?”
He blinked.
“I didn’t do that.”
Brooks watched him carefully.
“I didn’t.”
“I’m not saying you did.”
“Then who did?”
Before Brooks could answer, someone knocked.
Another detective entered.
She whispered into Brooks’s ear.
His expression changed immediately.
“What?”
Jack stood.
“What happened?”
Brooks ignored him.
The detective whispered again.
Then Brooks looked at Jack.
“We have the DNA result.”
Jack couldn’t breathe.
Already?
Emergency comparison.
Callie’s DNA profile had remained in the missing-person database.
Brooks slowly sat.
Jack gripped the table.
“Tell me.”
“The child from the bakery is Callie Cooper.”
Jack closed his eyes.
The world disappeared.
Three years.
Three years of birthdays without her.
Christmas mornings.
Empty bedrooms.
Missing posters.
Nightmares.
Three years of wondering whether she was cold, hungry, frightened, alive.
Alive.
Callie was alive.
Jack covered his face.
A sound escaped him—half laugh, half sob.
“My baby.”
Brooks remained silent.
“My baby’s alive.”
“Yes.”
“Take me to her.”
“Jack.”
It was the first time Brooks had used his first name.
Something in his voice made Jack lower his hands.
“What?”
“There’s another result.”
Jack’s joy faltered.
“What result?”
“We compared your DNA as well.”
Jack stared.
Brooks seemed reluctant to continue.
“The recording appears to have been telling the truth.”
Jack shook his head.
“No.”
“Jack—”
“No.”
“You are not Callie’s biological father.”
The words didn’t hurt at first.
They didn’t even seem to enter him.
Then they did.
Slowly.
Cruelly.
Jack sat.
“But…”
His voice vanished.
Brooks waited.
Jack looked through the one-way glass.
“Who is?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine.”
Jack thought of Sarah.
All the nights they had lain beside each other.
All the fertility appointments.
The day Sarah showed him the positive pregnancy test.
The first ultrasound.
Callie being placed into his arms.
Daddy.
She had called him Daddy.
DNA couldn’t erase that.
Nothing could.
“I don’t care,” Jack whispered.
Brooks nodded.
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.
I don’t care who her biological father is.”
Then Jack remembered the recording.
Because Callie isn’t his daughter.
Something didn’t fit.
If Sarah merely wanted to conceal an affair, why stage a kidnapping?
Why let Jack suffer?
Why let police search for years?
Why entrust Callie to Mara?
Why secretly meet Mara on the night she died?
“What was Sarah afraid of?”
Jack asked.
Brooks didn’t answer immediately.
“Detective.”
“We’re still investigating.”
“Mara knows.”
“Yes.”
“Then ask her.”
“We did.”
“And?”
Brooks exhaled.
“She says she doesn’t know the biological father’s real name.”
Jack frowned.
“Real name?”
“She knew him as Daniel.”
“Daniel who?”
“Just Daniel.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Mara says Sarah met him before you and Sarah were married.”
Jack stared at him.
“Then Callie couldn’t be his.
We’d already been married four years when she was born.”
“I know.”
“So?”
Brooks looked uncomfortable.
“Mara says Sarah met him again shortly before she became pregnant.”
Jack’s hands curled into fists.
“Where is Mara?”
“Jack.”
“I want to talk to her.”
“That’s not possible right now.”
“Why?”
The door opened again.
The other detective returned.
This time she looked frightened.
She whispered to Brooks.
He immediately stood.
“What hospital?”
“St.
Matthew’s.”
Jack’s blood turned cold.
“What happened to Callie?”
Brooks moved toward the door.
“Stay here.”
Jack grabbed his arm.
“What happened to my daughter?”
Brooks looked at him.
“Someone tried to take her.”
Jack released him.
“What?”
“At the hospital.”
“Mara?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
“Then who?”
Brooks hesitated.
“A man dressed as a doctor entered the pediatric wing using stolen credentials.”
Jack’s heart pounded.
“Did he get her?”
“No.
A nurse interrupted him.”
“Where is Callie now?”
“Secure room.
Officers outside.”
“And the man?”
“Gone.”
Jack felt sick.
“How did he know she was there?”
Brooks didn’t answer.
Jack already knew what that silence meant.
Someone had been watching.
Maybe for years.
Brooks hurried toward the door.
Jack followed.
“I’m coming.”
“Jack—”
“You can arrest me or take me to my daughter.”
Brooks stared at him for one second.
Then nodded.
“Come on.”
They reached St.
Matthew’s twenty minutes later.
Police covered the entrance.
Jack raced down the pediatric corridor.
At the far end, two officers guarded a room.
Callie sat on the bed.
She was wearing a clean hospital gown.
Her hair had been washed.
Without dirt covering her face, the resemblance struck Jack even harder.
Not resemblance to him.
To Sarah.
Her mother.
Callie saw him.
Her expression became uncertain.
“Mister Jack?”
He stopped several feet away.
He wanted desperately to hear Daddy.
But he wouldn’t force it.
“Hi.”
“Where’s Mommy?”
Jack looked at Brooks.
“Mara is still with the police.”
Callie’s eyes filled.
“Is she bad?”
Jack’s heart twisted.
“I don’t know.”
“She took care of me.”
“I know.”
“She said she saved me.”
Jack stepped closer.
“From who?”
Callie wiped her cheek.
“The monster.”
Every muscle in Jack’s body tightened.
“What monster?”
Callie looked toward the hospital door.
“The man who watches.”
Brooks stepped forward.
“What man?”
Callie shrank back.
Jack lifted a hand.
“Easy.”
Then he crouched beside the bed.
“Callie.”
Her eyes widened at the name.
“You can call me Lena.”
“Okay.
Lena.”
She relaxed slightly.
“Tell me about the man who watches.”
Callie shook her head.
“Mommy says never talk about him.”
“Mara?”
She nodded.
“Does he have a name?”
Another shake.
“What does he look like?”
“He changes.”
Jack frowned.
“Changes?”
“Sometimes beard.
Sometimes no beard.”
Brooks and Jack exchanged glances.
“Have you seen him recently?”
Callie nodded.
“When?”
“Today.”
Jack’s skin went cold.
“Where?”
She pointed toward the window.
“At the cake place.”
Jack stood.
“Across the street?”
Callie nodded.
“Was he near the car?”
“No.”
“Where?”
“Inside.”
Jack froze.
The bakery.
Someone inside the bakery.
His mind raced through faces.
The clerk.
The elderly couple.
The man on his laptop.
The woman by the window.
The delivery driver.
And—
The man laughing into his phone.
Jack suddenly remembered something.
When Mara entered, nearly everyone stared.
Except one man.
A man near the window.
He had calmly finished his coffee.
Then left.
“What did he look like?”
Brooks asked.
Callie frowned.
“Like Mister Jack.”
Jack went completely still.
Brooks turned toward him.
“What does that mean?”
Callie pointed at Jack’s face.
“Same eyes.”
Jack’s pulse roared in his ears.
“My eyes?”
She nodded.
“Mommy Mara said if I ever saw that man, I had to hide.”
Jack could barely speak.
“Why?”
Callie’s voice became a whisper.
“Because she said he was my real daddy.”
Silence filled the room.
Jack looked at Brooks.
Brooks reached for his radio.
Then Callie said something else.
Something far worse.
“He came to our house once.”
Jack turned back.
“What house?”
“Our old house.”
“With Mara?”
Callie shook her head.
“No.”
“Then whose house?”
The child stared at him with Sarah’s blue eyes.
“The house where you lived.”
Jack’s blood froze.
“My house?”
Callie nodded.
“I remember the stairs.”
Jack couldn’t move.
“And the blue room.”
Her bedroom.
The blue room.
She remembered.
Jack’s eyes filled.
“You remember your room?”
Callie nodded slowly.
“And Mommy Sarah.”
Jack grabbed the edge of the bed.
She remembered Sarah.
Then Callie whispered, “And I remember the night she screamed.”
Jack’s heart stopped.
“What night?”
Callie looked terrified now.
“The night before the park.”
Jack stared.
“You were three.”
“I remember.”
“What did you see?”
Callie began trembling.
Jack took her hand.
“It’s okay.”
She looked down at their joined fingers.
Then back at him.
“There were two Mister Jacks.”
Jack’s breathing stopped.
“What?”
“One was you.”
Her eyes moved toward the hospital doorway.
“And one looked almost like you.”
Brooks’s radio suddenly crackled.
A voice came through.
“Detective Brooks, we located the suspect from the pediatric wing.”
Brooks grabbed the radio.
“Where?”
“Security level B.
East stairwell.”
“Hold him.”
A pause.
Then the officer answered.
“We can’t.”
“Why?”
Another pause.
“He’s dead.”
Callie squeezed Jack’s hand.
Hard.
Brooks turned toward the door.
Jack barely heard him.
His mind was trapped on Callie’s words.
Two Mister Jacks.
One was you.
One looked almost like you.
“Jack,” Brooks said.
No response.
“Jack.”
He finally looked up.
Brooks’s face had changed.
“What?”
The detective slowly lowered his radio.
“They found identification on the dead man.”
Jack felt the room narrowing.
“Fake?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Brooks stared at him.
“But the name on it is Daniel Cooper.”
Jack blinked.
“Cooper?”
Callie suddenly began crying.
“He found us.”
Jack turned.
“Callie?”
She pulled him closer.
“He found us again.”
Then every light in the hospital went out.
The room plunged into darkness.
Someone screamed in the corridor.
Emergency lights flickered red.
Brooks drew his weapon.
“Stay in the room!”
Footsteps thundered outside.
Callie buried her face against Jack.
And then his phone vibrated.
Jack stared at the glowing screen.
Unknown number.
One message.
He opened it.
A photograph appeared.
Jack’s blood turned to ice.
It was a picture taken only seconds earlier.
Through the hospital-room window.
Jack crouching beside Callie.
Brooks standing near the door.
Someone was watching them right now.
Another message arrived.
Jack read it.
YOU STILL DON’T REMEMBER ME, BROTHER?
His hand began shaking.
Brother?
Jack had no brother.
At least, that was what he had believed his entire life.
Then came a third message.
A photograph of Sarah.
Alive.
Not an old photograph.
Not from three years ago.
The image showed Sarah holding that morning’s newspaper.
October 9.
Today.
Jack’s knees nearly gave way.
Beneath the photograph were seven words.
SHE LIED TO BOTH OF US, JACK.
Jack stared at the woman he had buried eighteen months earlier.
And somewhere beyond the dark hospital window, a man began laughing.
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https://storiesofdestiny.thucongmynghevungtau.com/full-story-the-lost-daughter-pt04/
Source: Stories of Destiny · Thao Thao
