The relief vanished.
“Is she awake?” I asked.
“No.”
“Will she wake up?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Ben shut his eyes.
The doctor spoke gently. “The next twenty-four hours will tell us more.”
“Can I see her?” he asked.
“Soon.”
“What about the babies?”
“A nurse will take you to the NICU.”
He nodded, but his body did not move.
The doctor touched his arm before leaving.
For a moment, Ben and I stood together in silence.
Rosie was alive.
The twins were alive.
That should have been enough to fill every part of me.
But in my hand was a letter from my sister explaining that the man who raised us might have murdered our mother—and that evidence was hidden beneath my roof.
Ben finally looked at me.
“You should go home and get the drive.”
“You’re coming.”
“I’m not leaving Rosie.”
“Then I’ll go alone.”
“No.”
“You just said the evidence has to be secured.”
“I also said Richard may know.”
“I’m not waiting while he destroys it.”
Ben’s face hardened.
“I’ll call someone I trust.”
“Who?”
“A detective.”
“You said we didn’t have enough for the police.”
“Not officially. But I know someone who will listen.”
I remembered then that Ben’s older cousin, Daniel Mercer, worked major crimes for the county sheriff’s department.
“Call him.”
Ben took out his phone.
Before he could dial, mine rang.
The screen showed DAD.
Neither of us spoke.
The phone kept ringing.
Ben reached for it.
I pulled it away.
“No.”
“Don’t answer.”
“If he suspects something, ignoring him will make it worse.”
“Claire.”
I pressed the green icon.
“Dad?”
“Sweetheart.” His voice was warm and tired. “How is she?”
I looked at Ben.
“She survived.”
A pause.
Only half a second.
Still, I heard it.
“Thank God,” my father said.
“The twins are alive too.”
“Thank God,” he repeated.
This time there was no hesitation.
“Where are you?”
“At home. I couldn’t sit in that hospital. Too many memories.”
My mother had been taken to that same hospital after they recovered her body.
My father had identified her.
I gripped the phone.
“Dad, did Rosie say anything strange to you recently?”
Ben shook his head sharply.
My father remained quiet.
“Strange in what way?”
“About Mom.”
The silence lengthened.
Then he sighed.
“Claire, your sister has been under enormous stress. Pregnancy can make anyone emotional, and Rosie sometimes becomes fixed on ideas she doesn’t fully understand.”
A familiar anger rose in me.
Rosie understood far more than people gave her credit for. She always had.
“What idea?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one asking.”
His answer was too smooth.
I looked at the letter.
“Did she accuse you of something?”
“Has Ben been talking to you?”
Ben’s eyes narrowed.
“Why would Ben talk to me?”
“Because he’s been filling Rosie’s head with nonsense for months.”
My heart began pounding.
“What kind of nonsense?”
“Old financial records. Your mother’s diaries. Things that should have stayed buried.”
Things that should have stayed buried.
He realized the mistake too late.
“Dad,” I whispered, “what did you do?”
His breathing changed.
When he spoke again, the warmth had vanished.
“Where is Ben?”
“Taking me to see the babies.”
“Put him on the phone.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
It was the voice he had used when I was a teenager, the one that made obedience feel like safety.
But I was no longer sixteen.
“What did you do to Mom?”
Ben stepped closer.
