Chapter 3 - the house that kept waiting)
Claire did not sleep.
At six in the morning, she stood beside the hospital window watching snow fall between the buildings.
Behind her, Abigail slept.
Claire had forced herself to begin using her real name silently.
Abigail.
Not Mia.
She would not force the name on the child.
But inside Claire's mind, the daughter she had buried without a grave had returned.
Detective Ortiz had left shortly after midnight.
Before leaving, she had asked Claire not to contact Natalie.
Claire had agreed.
At 6:17, Natalie called.
Claire stared at the name flashing across the screen.
She did not answer.
The phone stopped.
Thirty seconds later, it rang again.
Natalie.
Claire felt an old instinct pulling at her.
Call your sister.
Tell her everything.
For most of Claire's life, Natalie had been the person she called first.
When their mother died, Natalie had slept beside Claire for a week.
When Claire married Ethan, Natalie had been maid of honor.
When Abigail was born, Natalie had spent nearly every afternoon at Claire's apartment.
And when Abigail vanished, Natalie had moved into the guest room for two months because Claire could not stand being alone.
Now a frightened child had whispered Mommy Natalie in her sleep.
Claire declined the call.
A text appeared.
Dad told me police contacted him. Is this about Abby? Call me now.
Claire's hands trembled.
How did Richard know?
She called Ortiz instead.
"Did you contact my father?"
"We contacted immediate family because we're reopening parts of the original investigation."
"You told him Abigail might be alive?"
"We did not confirm identity."
"He told Natalie."
"Apparently."
Claire lowered her voice.
"She called Natalie Mommy."
"I know."
"Tell me what that means."
"I can't."
"Then tell me what you're doing."
"We're reviewing everyone who had access to Abigail before the disappearance."
"You already did that four years ago."
"We're doing it again with information we didn't have then."
"Was Natalie ever a suspect?"
Ortiz was quiet.
"Everyone close to Abigail was examined."
"That isn't what I asked."
"No evidence connected your sister to the disappearance."
Claire leaned against the wall.
"Did you ever search her house?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"We had no probable cause."
Claire closed her eyes.
The original investigation came back in fragments.
Abigail had disappeared from Claire's brownstone shortly after noon.
Claire had been upstairs taking a work call.
Ethan had left forty minutes earlier.
Natalie had arrived unexpectedly with coffee.
Their housekeeper, Naomi Bell, was folding laundry in the basement.
Abigail had been sleeping in the nursery.
At 12:34, Claire went upstairs.
The crib was empty.
A rear service door stood open.
The security camera covering the alley had stopped recording eighteen minutes earlier.
No ransom demand ever came.
Police focused initially on Ethan because his business was struggling and his alibi contained inconsistencies.
Claire defended him publicly.
Privately, doubt destroyed them.
Ethan moved out seven months later.
Their divorce was never finalized.
They simply stopped being husband and wife.
At seven-thirty, Dr. Sloane entered.
"She'll be transferred today to a secure pediatric foster facility."
Claire turned sharply.
"No."
"This is temporary."
"She's my daughter."
"We have preliminary DNA, but legal procedures still apply."
"Then I'll stay there."
"Claire."
"I lost four years. I'm not losing another day."
Dr. Sloane approached.
"Your daughter needs stability more than intensity right now."
The words hurt because Claire knew they were true.
"She doesn't remember me."
"Not consciously, perhaps."
"She called my sister Mommy."
"Children use words in complicated ways."
"Do you think Natalie raised her?"
"I don't know."
"Do you think my sister took her?"
"I don't know."
Claire looked through the glass.
"Then what do you know?"
"I know that when Abigail woke during the night, she looked for you."
Claire turned.
"What?"
"She woke around three. You were asleep in the chair. She checked that you were still there and went back to sleep."
Claire looked at the child.
It was almost nothing.
It felt like everything.
At ten, Claire left the hospital to retrieve clothes and documents.
For the first time in months, she returned to the brownstone where Abigail had disappeared.
Claire still owned it.
She had tried selling twice.
Each time, she canceled before closing.
The nursery remained almost untouched.
Friends called it unhealthy.
Therapists called it unresolved grief.
Claire called it waiting.
She unlocked the front door.
Cold silence greeted her.
She walked upstairs.
Abigail's room remained pale yellow.
Cloud decals covered one wall.
A wooden rabbit sat on the shelf.
Inside the closet hung dresses for a child who had long outgrown them.
Claire opened the top drawer.
There was an empty jewelry box.
The bracelet had once rested inside it.
She remembered the morning she placed it on Abigail.
Natalie had been there.
Claire stopped.
She remembered something else.
Natalie had criticized the bracelet.
Too loose.
She said Abigail might lose it.
Claire had replied that she would only wear it for birthday photographs.
Yet Abigail had still been wearing it on the day she disappeared.
Claire sat on the floor.
Her phone vibrated.
Ethan.
She had not spoken to him in four months.
Claire answered.
"Claire."
His voice alone brought back years of pain.
"Did they find her?"
She closed her eyes.
"I think so."
Silence.
Then she heard Ethan begin to cry.
"Where?"
"Hospital."
"Is she alive?"
"Yes."
"Is she okay?"
"I don't know."
"I'm coming."
"Ethan."
"I am coming."
Before Claire could reply, she heard movement downstairs.
She ended the call.
"Hello?"
No answer.
Claire stood.
A floorboard creaked.
She walked into the hallway.
The front door was open.
She was certain she had closed it.
"Who's there?"
Another sound came from Abigail's bedroom behind her.
Claire turned.
The window was opening.
A figure in a dark coat climbed onto the fire escape.
"Stop!"
Claire ran.
The person disappeared downward.
By the time Claire reached the window, only footprints remained on the metal steps.
She grabbed her phone and called police.
Then she noticed the nursery.
A drawer had been opened.
The jewelry box lay on the floor.
Nothing appeared missing.
Until Claire looked beneath the crib.
For four years, a white stuffed fox had sat there.
Abigail's favorite toy.
The fox was gone.
Something had been left in its place.
An envelope.
Claire opened it.
Inside was a photograph taken recently.
Abigail was standing beside a blue door.
A blonde woman stood behind her.
The woman's face had been deliberately scratched away.
May you like
On the back were four handwritten words.
You should have stopped looking.
