I click the attachment, and the first line punches me in the chest.
Subject Identified: Hazel Elizabeth Hartman is now legally known as Elizabeth Hazel Callahan.
“Elizabeth Hazel Callahan,” I whisper, tasting the name on my tongue. “Just enough to make her disappear."
I scroll further. Dawson included a scanned copy of the amended birth certificate.
Adoptive Parents: Mitchell and Johanna Callahan.
Adoption finalized on September 8, ten years ago.
"Oh my God," I breathe, pressing a hand to my mouth. "They adopted her exactly six months later. Almost to the day."
I skim through the background summary.
Beth lives in a single-family home in Madison and is currently enrolled at Southpointe High School. She is 14 years old and enjoys soccer, cheerleading, and reading. She has four brothers—Thomas (25), Seth (25), Jackson (32), and Nathan (37)—all of whom live outside the home and are not married. She also has a five-year-old niece, Hannah Callahan, daughter of Jackson Callahan (divorced).
I was so eager to tell Cal the good news that I never even looked at the report. If I had seen it first, I wouldn’t have been blindsided by the truth. I could’ve prepared a plan of attack. Been on the offensive instead of scrambling on the defensive. I must have looked so stupid.
My eyes blur. I blink hard.
“She loves reading.” I smile through the ache.
A photo loads at the bottom of the report. It’s a candid shot—Beth in her soccer uniform, grinning and flushed from a game, Cal’s arm slung over her shoulder. His head is bent toward hers, mid-laugh.
I stare at it like it might change.
The man who tore her from my arms got to live the life of her sibling. The life that should’ve been mine. Mine and no one else’s.
"She looks so much like mom,” I murmur. “God… she's beautiful.”
I click through more pictures. Her with a couple that I assume are her parents at some dinner. One of her holding a trophy. One blurry, probably taken from a distance—Beth on the front porch, mid-laugh with Hannah at her side.
“I missed it all.” My voice cracks. “Every birthday. Every scraped knee. Every first day of school.”
I scroll to the investigator’s closing summary.
Subject appears well-adjusted in a stable, loving home environment. No known disciplinary issues or healthconcerns reported. The adoption was finalized as closed, following a recommendation by a senior staff member at the group home, citing the older sibling’s emotional instability and behavioral challenges at the time. Records indicate the adoptive family was made aware of the older sibling’s placement in the group home but had no direct contact.
When the older sibling, Danielle Hartman, ran away from the group home at age fifteen, her whereabouts became unknown. Efforts to locate her were unsuccessful. There is no record indicating that the adoptive parents were informed of her location after that point.
A sob crawls up my throat. I swallow it.
“Ran away?” I say aloud. "That never happened."
Another document is labeledInterview Summary—a typed paragraph from someone who worked at the group home. It’s vague but confirms what I feared:
Hazel was removed due to abuse allegations in a prior foster placement and placed into immediate adoption custody. Subject’s sister, Danielle Hartman, absconded from state care a year after placement at age fifteen. Whereabouts are unknown.
My hands curl into fists.
My eyes settle on one last line at the bottom of the report:
Subject’s knowledge of biological sibling's existence, identity, or location is unknown. Further investigation regarding this matter will be granted upon request.
“Does she remember me?” I whisper. “Does she even know I exist?”
The tears come freely now. I pull my knees to my chest and let them fall.
