Unknown number.
My heart leapt stupidly.
“Hannah?”
At first, no one spoke.
Then a voice whispered, “Trevor.”
It was her.
I stood so quickly the screwdriver fell from my hand.
“Hannah?”
“Don’t talk. Just listen.”
Her voice was low, urgent.
Fear moved through me. “Are you okay?”
“I said listen.”
I shut my mouth.
There was noise in the background. Rain. A car engine. Grace crying faintly.
Then Hannah said, “Did you tell Vanessa about the lake house?”
My blood froze.
“What lake house?”
“My aunt’s lake house. The one outside Tyler.”
“I don’t know anything about it.”
Silence.
Then Grace cried louder.
“Hannah, what’s happening?”
“She sent me a message.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“What did it say?”
Hannah’s breath shook.
“She said, ‘You can keep the baby. I only want what you stole from me.’”
A cold wave passed through my body.
“Hannah, where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Call the police.”
“I did.”
“Then why are you calling me?”
For the first time, her voice broke.
“Because the message had a photo attached.”
I stopped breathing.
“What photo?”
Hannah whispered, “A picture of Grace’s hospital bracelet.”
The room spun.
Grace’s hospital bracelet.
We had kept it in a memory box.
A white box with silver lettering that Hannah stored in the nursery closet.
But the nursery closet was empty now.
Wasn’t it?
I ran down the hall to the spare room where I had shoved the few boxes Hannah had left behind.
I tore through them.
Old tax files.
My college sweatshirt.
Broken picture frames.
Then I saw it.
A white box.
Silver lettering.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Empty.
No bracelet.
No first ultrasound.
No tiny hospital hat.
Nothing.
Only a folded note.
Not in Hannah’s handwriting.
In Vanessa’s.
I picked it up with numb fingers.
