Chapter 6: The Daughter They Stole
I didn’t remember sitting down.
One moment I was standing in my doorway.
The next, I was on the floor with my back against the wall, staring at nothing.
My brother.
Daniel.
The person who taught me to ride a bike.
The person who promised my father he would protect me.
The person who held my hand at Lily’s funeral.
He had signed papers giving my daughter to Victoria Whitmore.
No.
My mind rejected it.
My heart rejected it.
But the evidence didn’t care what I could accept.
Michael sat across from me.
For the first time since he arrived, he looked broken.
Not guilty.
Broken.
“You should have told me.””
The words came out quietly.
He lowered his eyes.
“I tried.””
“When?””
“After the funeral.””
I looked at him.
“Then why didn’t you?””
“Because Daniel threatened you.””
I froze.
“What?””
“He told me if I contacted you, Victoria would destroy everything.””
My laugh was bitter.
“She already destroyed everything.””
Michael looked at Lily’s picture.
“I know.””
The room was silent.
Then my mother spoke.
“There’s something else.””
I turned.
“Of course there is.””
She flinched.
And immediately, I regretted the cruelty.
But pain had a way of making knives out of words.
“What else?””
She took a deep breath.
“Lily wasn’t taken because of Bellamy.””
I frowned.
“Then why?””
My mother looked at me.
“Because Victoria wanted something you had.””
“What?””
“Your name.””
I stared.
“My name?””
She nodded.
“Victoria couldn’t inherit certain family assets because of legal restrictions. But Lily…”
She stopped.
I understood before she finished.
“No.””
“She was your daughter.””
My stomach turned.
“She was your heir.””
The room became unbearably quiet.
All these years.
I thought someone stole my daughter because of revenge.
Because of business.
Because of power.
But the truth was worse.
They stole her because she was valuable.
A child had become a piece on a chessboard.
My child.
I stood.
“Where is Daniel?””
Michael looked at me.
“Simone.””
“Where is he?””
“He won’t tell you anything.””
I grabbed my coat.
“Then he can lie to my face.””
Michael stood.
“I’m coming with you.””
“No.””
He stopped.
“I need to do this alone.””
His expression changed.
“Simone.””
I looked at him.
“I spent fifteen years alone.””
The words hurt both of us.
“I can handle one more night.””
I drove straight to Daniel’s house.
The entire way there, I kept seeing Lily’s face.
Her laugh.
Her tiny hands.
The way she used to call strawberries “red hearts.””
Memories I thought belonged to grief now belonged to anger.
When Daniel opened the door, he looked surprised.
Then afraid.
That was the first honest emotion I had seen from him.
“Simone.””
I stepped inside without permission.
“We need to talk.””
He closed the door slowly.
“I heard.””
“About what?””
He didn’t answer.
That told me everything.
“You knew I would find out eventually.””
Daniel looked exhausted.
“I was trying to stop this.””
“Stop what?””
“The truth.””
I stared at him.
“You helped them steal my daughter.””
His face collapsed.
“I never wanted that.””
“You signed the papers.””
“I was forced.””
“You always say that.””
My voice rose.
“You were forced to betray me. Forced to lie. Forced to let me mourn a child who was alive.””
Tears filled his eyes.
“I made a mistake.””
“No.””
I stepped closer.
“A mistake is forgetting an appointment.””
My voice shook.
“This was a choice.””
Daniel looked away.
“Victoria had evidence.””
“Of what?””
He didn’t answer.
“Daniel.””
He whispered:
“Of what happened the night Lily disappeared.””
I froze.
“What does that mean?””
He looked terrified.
“Simone, there’s a reason Victoria has always been one step ahead.””
“Why?””
His voice dropped.
“Because she didn’t just know about Lily.””
I waited.
“She was there.””
My heart stopped.
“She was there?””
Daniel nodded.
“And she wasn’t alone.””
A strange feeling moved through me.
“Who else?””
Daniel looked toward the window.
Then back at me.
“The person who gave Victoria information about you.””
I whispered:
“Who?””
His answer barely came out.
“Your husband.””
I stepped back.
“No.””
Daniel looked at me with tears in his eyes.
“I’m sorry.””
My phone buzzed.
A message.
Unknown number.
One photo.
I opened it.
My breath disappeared.
A picture of a young girl.
Around twenty years old.
Standing outside a building.
A familiar smile.
Familiar eyes.
Below the picture was one sentence.
*You spent fifteen years mourning your daughter.*
Another message appeared.
*But she has been alive this entire time.*
I couldn’t move.
Then the final message arrived.
May you like
*Meet your daughter tomorrow.*
*If you want her to survive.*
