“You must be mistaken,” I repeat. Because this can’t be real. Because if it is, my entire life has been stolen from me.
And my mother wouldn’t have kidnapped me. Would she?
Unfortunately, I immediately know the answer to that. Yes. Yes, she would’ve.
“In the end, all we found was your shoe. It had gotten caught in some twigs on the riverbank about two miles from where you went missing. Between the water and the cold temperatures, you were assumed dead, but your body was never recovered, so…” Trailing off, Jen shrugs with a wobbly smile. “I never gave up on you. I always thought you were still alive.”
Preston knew all this. At least, he had an idea. He had to.
He’d hinted at some unpleasantness in my past, but I didn’t push because I was so happy in the present. Maybe I should’ve pressed for answers sooner, but I never imagined it would be this bad.
And this is really fucking bad.
“I’m going to read you a report from your adoptive parents, okay?” Jen lifts a pair of bifocals to her nose. “Let me know if it triggers any memories. This is a statement from your mother: We were fishing. Melody was near the dock. We use bologna for bait, and she loves to eat it when we’re not looking. Mason turned his back for just a second to grab an extra pole, and when he turned around, she was gone. What if she fell into the river? She can’t swim. The water’s rushing so fast today, and it has to be freezing.”
Water rushing. Freezing.
Oh, God.
Jen’s voice fades out as a memory pushes forward.
I’m playing with a slice of bologna. It’s thin and wiggly, and I fit it into one of the slats between the wood on the dock. It slips from my fingers, and I watch it get swept away. Thinking I can catch it, I lean over the side of the dock and reach…
Splash.
The next thing I know, cold shocks my entire body and I can’t breathe. I’m flipped and twisted this way and that under the water. Everything hurts. I break the surface a couple of times to get a breath. There are some shallow parts where I can put my feet down, but I’m yanked back in because the current keeps knocking me over.
It feels like my struggle goes on forever before black nothingness takes over.
I wake to a face. My mom’s face.
No, not my mom. Loralee Pearson. She’s slapping my cheeks and rolling me onto my side so she can pound my back. I’m coughing, gagging, and spitting water out. I can’t feel my body. I can’t feel anything.
I gasp, and my chest feels tight, just like it did that day.
The blood pressure cuff on my arm tightens, and the heart monitor starts going crazy.
“Where did you go just then, Rosalie?” Jen’s closer to the bed now, and she’s clutching my hand. “You remembered something, didn’t you?”
Nurses quickly file into the room, stopping me from answering as they fuss over me. One gets out a thermometer and holds it up to my forehead. Another is manually checking my pulse.
“I’m fine,” I say weakly, but it’s a lie, and I sneeze.
My entire life was just blown up in a matter of minutes.
So this is why Jen knew I’d need counseling.
I was taken. Stolen from my real family. The woman I’ve called Mom for as long as I can remember is a criminal.
That’s why she never let me out of the house.
Not because she wanted to protect me. Not because she wanted to keep me away from my father.
Not because I’m crazy.
But because she is.
She had to hide me so she wouldn’t get caught.
“My life is so fucked up,” I wheeze.
“Loralee is in custody,” Jen tells me fervently. “She’ll never hurt you again.”
A mental image of the woman who raised me pops up in my head, only now she’s not finely dressed. Her hair isn’t in place. No, she’s behind bars in a scratchy jumpsuit.
I don’t feel any satisfaction. Not even a little.
I don’t know what I feel. It’s not guilt, because she deserves to be locked up for what she did. But the woman I know won’t fare well in someone else’s prison.
My, how the tables have turned.
“Can I—” I gulp. “Can I go see her soon?”
“Rosalie, she’s not your mother and she doesn’t deserve your sympathy. She victimized you for the past fifteen years.” Jen pats my hand. “You’ll get your justice in court. Why don’t you consider writing a statement?”
“A statement?”
“Yes.” Jen pauses. “Do you know how to read and write?”
“Of course I do.” I’m actually offended, and the blood pressure cuff starts tightening again. “I studied geography and history. I’ve read all the classics. I even learned algebra and geometry, and believe me, I didn’t want to. I hate math. My mom—I mean, Loralee wanted me to be smart.”
“Okay, okay. Just making sure. Think about writing a letter to Loralee about your feelings and experiences. A testimony.”
“The patient needs to rest,” one of the nurses says firmly to Jen.
Jen nods, but before she can turn to leave, I grab her wrist. “Did Preston know about all this?” My gaze drops to her folder. “This whole time, has he known everything?”
She shrugs. “You’ll have to ask him that.”
Oh, I will. The man has some explaining to do, but I won’t be too hard on him. I can’t. Not when he took bullets for me. “When will he be out of surgery?”
“Soon,” a nurse responds, and then I’m offered some reassurances and a sedative.
Wanting a break from everything I just learned, I accept the medicine, and instead of a pill, the nurse injects something into my IV. The effect is immediate.
My eyes get heavy. As the room empties, I let myself sink into the blissful calm.
Jen left my baby picture behind. It’s right at my fingertips. I don’t want to look at it.
Instead, I envision Preston’s face. I think about his smile and the way he rubs the cleft in my chin. I remember the way he holds me when I have a nightmare.
Most importantly, I imagine our future together. One that will be a hell of a lot better than my past.
When I wake up, it’s dark outside. The lights in the room have dimmed, and Ivan’s sitting in the chair Jen was in before. His elbows are on his knees and he’s hanging his head.
Still groggy from the medicine, I blink at him, wondering if this is real or a dream.
“Are you allowed to be here?” I ask, and Ivan’s head whips up.
He smiles. “I’m family, darling. Plus, the staff love me here. I basically paid for the new pediatric wing four years ago.”
“Yeah, but you know cops are swarming the halls. FBI, Ivan.”
His lips twitch with amusement. “I’m aware.”
“Aren’t you worried they’re going to arrest you?”
“For what? Visiting my daughter in the hospital?”
“No,” I scoff. “Just the dozen crimes they probably know you’ve committed.”
His face becomes thoughtful. “Law enforcement and I have a long history of… understanding each other.”
“What does that mean?”
“They leave my business alone, and I help them catch worse men than me when they need information.”