Chapter 2 - the name she was taught)
The doctors at St. Matthew's Pediatric Center would not allow Claire to stay in the examination room.
She understood why.
Understanding did not make leaving easier.
Mia had cried when a nurse tried to separate them.
Claire had remained beside her until Dr. Helen Sloane, a child trauma specialist called by the police, arrived.
Dr. Sloane spoke softly and never approached Mia without permission.
Only after twenty minutes did Mia release Claire's hand.
Claire stepped into the hallway.
Detective Lena Ortiz was waiting.
She had been assigned to Abigail's disappearance four years earlier.
Claire had not seen her in almost two years.
Ortiz looked older.
So did Claire.
For several seconds neither woman spoke.
Then Ortiz looked at the bracelet in the evidence bag.
"You're certain?"
"Yes."
"Four years is a long time."
"I know my daughter's bracelet."
"I'm not questioning you."
"It sounds like you are."
"I'm trying to protect you."
Claire turned toward the examination room.
"From what?"
"From believing before we know."
Claire laughed once, without humor.
"I've spent four years believing while everyone else told me to stop."
Ortiz lowered her voice.
"We're running DNA."
"How long?"
"Fastest possible priority."
"How long?"
"Several hours for a preliminary result."
Claire stared through the narrow window in the door.
Mia was eating soup slowly.
She stopped after every few spoonfuls and looked toward the entrance as if someone might take the bowl away.
Claire felt sick.
"What did he do to her?"
"We're still determining that."
"He made her beg for money."
"Yes."
"He denied her food."
"According to witnesses, yes."
"He grabbed her hard enough to leave marks."
Ortiz said nothing.
Claire finally faced her.
"Who is Dale Mercer?"
"Forty-one. Several arrests. Assault. Fraud. Petty theft. No convictions involving children. Most recently lived in Pennsylvania, although he appears to have used multiple addresses."
"And he says she's his niece?"
"He did."
"Is she?"
"We found no record of a niece matching her age."
Claire glanced down the hall.
"Then why was she with him?"
"That's what we're trying to learn."
Ortiz hesitated.
"There is something else."
Claire immediately knew she would hate whatever came next.
"What?"
"The prepaid phone recovered from Mercer received a message this morning."
Claire waited.
Ortiz showed her a photograph of the phone screen.
The message contained only seven words.
Birthday approaching. Move her before the sixth.
Claire's mouth went dry.
"Who sent it?"
"Unknown number. Also prepaid."
"Can you trace it?"
"We're trying."
"Why the sixth?"
Ortiz looked at her.
"You tell me."
Claire shook her head.
"Abigail turns five on September fourth."
"Which is six days from now."
The door opened.
Dr. Sloane stepped into the hallway.
"Claire?"
Claire rushed toward her.
"Is she okay?"
"Physically, she is underweight and mildly dehydrated. She has bruising consistent with rough handling, but nothing that appears immediately life-threatening."
Claire closed her eyes briefly.
"And mentally?"
Dr. Sloane's expression softened.
"That will take longer to understand."
"Did she say anything about who she is?"
"A little."
Claire waited.
"She believes her name is Mia Mercer."
"Mercer."
"Yes."
"He gave her his name."
"We don't know who gave her that identity."
Claire looked at the door.
"Can I see her?"
"In a moment. There is something you need to hear first."
Dr. Sloane glanced at Detective Ortiz.
"Mia has fragmented memories. At her age, especially after prolonged trauma, we have to be very careful not to lead her."
"I understand."
"She remembers several homes. She remembers being told never to speak to police. She remembers being told that her mother abandoned her because she cried too much."
Claire pressed a hand against her mouth.
Dr. Sloane continued.
"She also remembers a song."
Claire lowered her hand.
"What song?"
"She couldn't name it. She hummed part of it."
"What did it sound like?"
Dr. Sloane hummed four quiet notes.
Claire stopped breathing.
It was not a famous lullaby.
Claire's mother had made it up when Claire and her older sister Natalie were children.
Years later, Claire had sung it to Abigail every night.
Ethan used to laugh because the melody had no proper ending.
Only three people knew it.
Claire.
Ethan.
And Natalie.
"Where did she learn that?"
Dr. Sloane watched her carefully.
"You recognize it?"
"My mother wrote that song."
Ortiz's eyes sharpened.
"Who knew it?"
"My husband. My sister."
"Anyone else?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
Claire looked toward the child behind the door.
"She is Abigail."
"We still need DNA."
"She is Abigail."
This time Ortiz did not argue.
When Claire returned to the room, Mia was holding the empty soup cup with both hands.
"You came back."
Claire sat beside her.
"I told you I would."
Mia studied her face.
"Are you really a mommy?"
The question nearly broke Claire.
"Yes."
"Where's your little girl?"
Claire looked at the child.
"I lost her."
Mia frowned.
"Like when you lose a mitten?"
Claire managed a small smile through tears.
"Something like that."
"Did you look for her?"
"Every day."
Mia seemed to think about this.
Then she whispered, "Maybe she thought you stopped."
Claire's heart twisted.
"I never stopped."
The girl looked down.
For a long time, she traced a scratch in the plastic cup.
Finally she said, "Mr. Dale says mommies forget."
"Mr. Dale was wrong."
"He says everybody leaves."
Claire reached across the table but did not touch her.
"I won't leave tonight."
Mia looked up.
"Promise?"
"I promise."
A nurse entered carrying clean clothes donated by the hospital.
When she helped Mia remove the oversized parka, something fell from an inside pocket.
A tiny purple bead rolled across the floor.
Claire stared.
Mia immediately scrambled after it.
"No."
"It's okay," the nurse said.
"No. That's mine."
Mia grabbed the bead and closed her fist.
Claire noticed a thin thread hanging from the girl's purple necklace.
One bead was missing.
"Who gave you that necklace?"
Mia's expression changed.
She looked uncertain.
"A lady."
"What lady?"
Mia stared toward the door.
"The lady at the blue door."
Detective Ortiz, standing outside, heard her.
She entered slowly.
"What blue door, Mia?"
Mia withdrew into herself.
Dr. Sloane immediately raised a hand.
"That's enough."
But Mia whispered before anyone could stop her.
"She used to cry when she looked at me."
Claire felt cold spread through her body.
"What did she look like?"
Mia squeezed the bead.
"Yellow hair."
Claire's pulse accelerated.
"Blonde?"
Mia nodded.
Claire was blonde.
So was her sister Natalie.
Dr. Sloane stepped between them.
"No more questions tonight."
Ortiz agreed.
Claire sat silently.
An hour later, while Mia slept, Detective Ortiz received the preliminary laboratory report.
She read it in the hallway.
Then she walked into the room.
Claire stood immediately.
Ortiz's eyes were wet.
That frightened Claire more than anything.
"What?"
Ortiz held out the report.
"The preliminary maternal DNA comparison is consistent."
Claire stared at her.
"What does consistent mean?"
Ortiz took a breath.
"It means there is an overwhelming statistical probability that this child is your biological daughter."
Claire looked toward the hospital bed.
Mia was sleeping beneath a white blanket.
One hand rested near her cheek.
Claire approached slowly.
For four years she had imagined finding Abigail a thousand different ways.
She had imagined airports.
Police stations.
Doorsteps.
Hospitals.
She had imagined Abigail running into her arms and remembering everything.
Reality was different.
Her daughter was five feet away.
And she did not know who Claire was.
Claire sat beside the bed and cried without making a sound.
Then Mia moved.
Her eyes remained closed.
She whispered something.
Claire leaned closer.
"Mommy."
Claire covered her mouth.
But the next word changed everything.
"Mommy Natalie."
Claire froze.
Behind her, Detective Ortiz heard it too.
Claire slowly turned.
Natalie was Claire's sister.
May you like
Natalie had been inside Claire's house on the day Abigail disappeared.
And Natalie had never once told police that Abigail had ever called her Mommy.
