Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
“I…” Rosemary wets her lips with her tongue. “The last thing I remember was eating the birthday cake Mrs. De Luca’s mother brought me.”
“What?” Anya goes deathly pale. “What did you say?”
The feed from the side of the porch loads. I enlarge the image, focusing on the face.
“Your mother,” Rosemary says. “She brought me cake from the party.” Her voice cracks. “She said you asked her to bring me a slice.”
Anya stumbles a step backward, shock painted over her face. “My mother.”
The woman on the feed lifts her head when she reaches the bottom of the porch steps. I didn’t recognize her in the fancy ball gown and the wig that makes her hair look thicker, but I should’ve fucking known.
Rosemary’s tone carries fear now. Uncertainly, she says, “Surely, your mother was invited.”
“No,” I say, clenching my teeth as I stare at Mary Brennan’s ugly face on my phone. “She wasn’t.”
Chapter
Thirty-Six
Anya
* * *
The delicious birthday cake turns sour in my stomach. Acid burns my gut.
I’m going to be sick.
I barely make it to the bathroom before the food pushes up in my throat. Falling on my knees in front of the toilet, I empty my stomach.
“Anya,” Saverio says behind me, his voice gravelly and distraught.
He grips my hair in a ponytail at my nape, keeping it away from my face while I puke out my lungs. Spasms rack my body until only bile is left.
His palm is warm on my shoulder. Anchoring. “I’ll find her. I promise you that.”
Sitting back on my heels, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. My chest heaves from the exertion. I’m simultaneously weak from vomiting and wired from the adrenaline. “Do you think it was my mom?”
“I know it was her.”
It takes enormous effort to lift my head and look at my husband. At the same time, I’m like a coiled spring, ready to jump to my feet and go searching for my daughter. “How can we be sure? Anyone could’ve said she was my mother.”
He shows me his phone. “I got the video feed from the security cameras.”
The proof is right there, staring me in the face from the screen of his phone.
Fear plunges me into a deep, dark, frightening place. The stress is like a monster eating me alive from the inside out. “I have to find her.”
I want her back. I want her back now. I won’t be able to breathe or think or live until I do.
I’m going to look for her, and I won’t stop until I find her, not for food or water or sleep or a shower, no matter how long it takes.
Determination gives me strength. I flush the toilet and push to my feet. Saverio takes my hand to help me. I walk on autopilot to the basin and rinse my mouth.
Saverio squirts toothpaste onto my toothbrush and hands it to me. “Brush your teeth, my love. You’ll feel better.”
A memory of him doing that for me when I was sick during my pregnancy with Claire jumps to mind. Tears burn at the back of my eyes. The breakdown lingers behind the pressure building there. It will only take one tear to unleash the torrent.
Saverio presses a gentle kiss on my neck. “Be strong. There will be time for that later.”
For crying. To fall apart.
He’s right. I straighten my spine and grip the edge of the basin for balance. I think I may fall over if I don’t hold on to something.
My tone is hard and unforgiving because there’s no forgiving this. Ever. “How did my mom get in?”
His expression darkens. “That’s what I’m going to find out. I’m about to interrogate the guards. Will you be all right?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Go.” When he doesn’t budge, I say, “Do what you must. I’ll be fine.”
He hovers for another second, but then he turns around and leaves.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, not recognizing the haunted woman in front of me. The urge to scream at the injustice is enormous. My worry is a cancer that eats me alive. Is Claire frightened? Is she crying? Is she hungry? Cold? My mom never cared if I was hungry, cold, or scared. She’s not going to soothe my baby. The thought torments me with a pain much worse than a physical blow. I’d rather take a forked spike through my stomach than stand here and not know if my baby is all right.
Why did my mom take her? For ransom? Where did she take her? My mom couldn’t have gotten far, but every second we waste is a second my baby is taken farther away from us. I won’t allow that. I can’t.
I look down at my hand in which I still clutch the toothbrush. Mechanically, I brush my teeth. I don’t bother with rinsing the toothpaste from my mouth. I drop the toothbrush in the basin and walk to the safe in the dressing room.