“Protecting me? I’m not a child.” My eyes are burning now, hot with rage as I glare at each of them in turn. “You received proof my daughter is alive and you just…ignored it.”
“I didn’t,” Gabriel says. Tears have filled his eyes and are now trickling down his cheeks. He swipes them away angrily, then meets my eyes. “I know it’s probably a fake. But if I went to the police and this was real…If someone actually has her, it could put her in danger. I needed to keep quiet and get answers. I hired a PI to look into it.”
“And you didn’t think I deserved to know? Her own mother?” My whole body is shaking so hard I can barely keep my voice steady. “So while I’ve been losing my mind over the death of our daughter, you’ve been running an investigation behind my back?”
“He didn’t want you to go through more pain,” Scarlett replies. “We wanted to spare you. We really believed it was probably a hoax or—” She runs out of words, mouth twisted with anguish. “We still do. Judy, let’s do the funeral and go home. Whoever sent those photos is just someone desperate to milk money out of Sadie’s disappearance. They don’t have her. Much as it hurts, we need to accept that she died that night.” She sucks in a breath. “Someone is just trying to capitalize on Sadie’s case. They don’t actually have anything.”
“She didn’t die, and I’m not leaving until I know the truth of exactly what happened. And I’m not doing the funeral tomorrow or on Sunday.” My voice drops to something colder. “And from now on, you don’t get to decide what I can or cannot handle. No more secrets. No more lies.”
But even as I say those words, I stare at my friend. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more she’s not telling me.
TEN
I stay in the kitchen for a long time while Gabriel and Scarlett head to Sadie’s bedroom. I can hear the sound of glass clinking as they attempt to clean up their mess.
Unable to move, I sit holding Coco, who’s pressing her head into my chest. Resting my chin on the top of her head, I do my best to breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth.
The sweeping waves outside don’t have their usual soothing effect on me. My hands are clenched hard enough to leave little crescent moons in my palms.
I don’t even know what the right next move is, only that I can’t trust anyone.
I’m furious, my blood boiling and churning inside me as I think about what they did behind my back.
How could they treat me like that? Like I’m some fragile thing that can’t be trusted to handle the truth.
Yes, for months I spent hours a day in bed, staring at the ceiling, pill bottles lining my nightstand. I couldn’t shower without sitting down, couldn’t make toast without burning it, couldn’t speak without my therapist, Dr. Winters, coaxing each word from me like she was pulling teeth. I was completely shattered.
But I started to live again as best I could. I pulled myself back to my feet. I learned how to breathe again slowly. How to stand in grocery stores and playgrounds without collapsing into a heap. How to sleep without medication.
I’m stronger now. And all I can think about is finding the person who has my daughter. Saving her. I will take down whoever tries to get in my way. Even if they are standing inside this apartment with me.
And I’m furious they threw that rock through the window. Furious that they messed with my daughter’s room. That they violated the one space that had remained untouched, that I held sacred in the aftermath.
How could they do that to me? How could they do that to her?
Adrenaline shoots through me and I stand up, lowering Coco to the floor before heading to Sadie’s bedroom.
“Stop,” I demand.
They both freeze, glancing at me and then at the rock still lying on the floor. The jagged hole in the window gapes like a wound, mocking me. That rock feels like it has cracked its way through my chest and left the same gaping hole inside my heart.
Gabriel clutches the broom like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His gaze is fixed on the floor, shoulders caved inward with shame.
Scarlett stands near the bed, hugging herself as if trying to hold broken ribs together. Her swollen eyes betray the silent crying.
The sight of her stirs something complicated in me, rage tangled with understanding.
There’s no doubt in my mind that she loved Sadie. She would have done everything for that girl. And I know Sadie felt the same way about her. That’s why when I told Sadie she wasgoing to the camp last July, she asked for Scarlett to go with her instead of me.
Sadie had spent endless sleepovers at Scarlett and Matt’s house before they divorced. I remember how she would burst through our front door after weekends at “Aunty Scarlett’s,” chattering about movie marathons and ice-cream dinners, privileges I never allowed.
“You’re not much fun, Mommy,” she’d tell me often when I said no to something she wanted, and those words stung more than I let on.
Aunty Scarlett let her watch more movies than educational shows and eat sweets before dinner. She didn’t care about bedtimes, vegetables, or even chores. Whenever Sadie was ill, Scarlett would do what any loving aunt would do.
She would show up with cans of ginger ale, cough drops that tasted like candy, and comic books that Sadie would devour in a night.
When Sadie was little, Scarlett would hold her in her lap and stroke her hair until she fell asleep. I’d find them later, with Sadie curled against Scarlett’s chest, both breathing peacefully, while I stood in the doorway, feeling a little alone outside the circle they’d created.
