PART 2
“Mom, don’t force yourself.”
She ignored me.
Her fingers tightened around the pen.
The tip scratched against the paper so lightly I could barely hear it over the heart monitor.
One letter.
Then another.
I watched the sentence appear.
“He was there the night Saint Helena burned.”
My stomach dropped.
I looked at her.
“Robert?”
She blinked once.
Yes.
“Why?”
Her hand moved again.
“I took you from him.”
I stopped breathing.
For several seconds, the hospital room seemed to disappear around me.
There was only my mother.
The notebook.
And those five words.
I took you from him.
“What does that mean?”
She tried to write again.
Her hand jerked.
The pen slipped from her fingers and rolled across the blanket.
“Mom?”
Her eyes widened.
The monitor began screaming.
A nurse rushed through the door.
Then another.
“Sophia, step outside.”
“What’s happening?”
“Please step outside now.”
“I need to know what she was trying to tell me.”
“Sophia.”
The nurse physically guided me toward the hallway as three people surrounded my mother’s bed.
The door closed in my face.
I stood there clutching the notebook against my chest.
My hands were shaking.
Then my phone vibrated.
Julia.
I answered immediately.
“You need to leave the hospital,” she said.
There was something in her voice I had never heard before.
Fear.
“What?”
“Right now, Sophia.”
“Julia, my mom just—”
“I know. But Robert is there.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
“What do you mean he’s there?”
“I’m looking at him.”
Julia had access to the location tracker I had installed on Robert’s car three days earlier.
Originally, it had been a precaution.
Now it felt like the only reason I was still alive.
“He pulled into the hospital parking garage two minutes ago,” she whispered.
My eyes moved toward the elevators.
The numbers above them changed.
6.
7.
8.
My mother was on the ninth floor.
“Julia.”
“Go.”
The elevator reached nine.
Ding.
The doors opened.
Robert stepped out.
He wore a charcoal suit.
White shirt.
No tie.
His silver hair was perfectly combed.
To anyone else, he looked like a concerned relative arriving to visit his sick sister.
But he wasn’t looking toward my mother’s room.
He was looking directly at me.
And he smiled.
“Sophia.”
My body wanted to run.
Instead, I slipped the notebook inside my jacket.
“What are you doing here?”
His smile never changed.
“I came to see your mother.”
“How did you know I was here?”
That made his smile falter.
Only for a second.
Then it returned.
“You told me you were visiting her today.”
No.
I hadn’t.
I had deliberately told him I was meeting Julia for lunch.
He walked toward me.
I stepped backward.
Robert noticed.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.”
“You seem nervous.”
“My mother had a complication.”
“I’m sorry.”
He reached toward my shoulder.
I moved away before he could touch me.
His hand stopped in midair.
For the first time, the warmth vanished from his face.
Then he glanced at the closed hospital-room door.
“What did she tell you?”
The question came too quickly.
Too precisely.
I stared at him.
“What makes you think she told me anything?”
Robert’s jaw tightened.
There it was.
The man beneath the gentleman.
He looked toward the nurses’ station.
Then back at me.
“Sophia, your mother is very ill. People in her condition become confused.”
“She wrote something.”
Silence.
I shouldn’t have said it.
I knew that immediately.
His eyes dropped toward my jacket.
“Did she?”
“Yes.”
“What did she write?”
I forced myself to smile.
“That she loves me.”
Robert studied my face.
For five unbearable seconds, neither of us moved.
Then he laughed softly.
“I’m sure she does.”
My phone was still connected to Julia.
She could hear everything.
Robert walked past me toward my mother’s room.
I caught his arm.
“You can’t go inside.”
He looked down at my hand.
I released him.
“Doctors are working on her.”
“I’ll wait.”
“You should go home.”
Something changed in his expression.
“Sophia.”
He lowered his voice.
“You’ve been going through my study.”
My blood turned cold.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The bottom drawer of my filing cabinet was left open.”
I said nothing.
“The Saint Helena folder was moved.”
He stepped closer.
“You should have asked me.”
“Asked you what?”
“About yourself.”
I felt Julia whisper through the phone.
“Keep him talking.”
Robert heard something.
His eyes moved toward my pocket.
“Who are you speaking to?”
“No one.”
He reached for my phone.
I backed away.
“Sophia.”
“Don’t touch me.”
Two nurses at the desk looked toward us.
Robert immediately stepped back.
His face transformed.
Concerned uncle again.
Gentle.
Patient.
Respectable.
“I’m worried about you,” he said loudly enough for them to hear.
Then quietly, only for me:
“You have no idea what your mother did.”
My heart hammered.
“What did she do?”
His eyes hardened.
“She stole something that never belonged to her.”
Before I could respond, the hospital-room door opened.
A doctor stepped out.
“Ms. Beltran?”
I turned.
“How is she?”
“She’s stable.”
I nearly collapsed with relief.
“But she needs rest. No visitors for at least an hour.”
Robert nodded politely.
“Of course.”
Then he looked at me.
“I’ll wait downstairs.”
He walked toward the elevator.
Just before entering, he turned.
“Sophia?”
I looked at him.
“Come home tonight.”
The doors began closing.
“We need to talk about Saint Helena.”
The doors shut.
I stood frozen.
Julia’s voice came through my phone.
“Do not go back to that house.”
“I have to.”
“Absolutely not.”
“He knows.”
“Exactly.”
“He knows I found the folder.”
“And that makes going back there insane.”
I stared toward my mother’s room.
“No.”
I lowered my voice.
“It means whatever he’s hiding is about to disappear.”
Julia went silent.
She knew I was right.
Robert was a lawyer.
He had spent his entire life protecting wealthy clients from consequences.
If he believed I was close to discovering something, every document in that house could be gone by morning.
“Then we call the police,” Julia said.
“And tell them what?”
“That he enters your bedroom while you’re sleeping.”
“We have recordings.”
“Yes.”
“But those recordings show him touching my scar and looking for my necklace. They don’t explain Saint Helena.”
“They’re enough to start asking questions.”
“Robert has friends everywhere.”
“Sophia—”
“My mother wrote that she took me from him.”
Julia stopped.
“What?”
I pulled the notebook from my jacket and read the words again.
“He was there the night Saint Helena burned. I took you from him.”
“Oh my God.”
“I need to know what that means.”
“You think the answer is inside his house.”
“I know it is.”
There was a long silence.
Finally, Julia sighed.
“If you go back, I’m watching the camera feed every second.”
“Okay.”
“And you keep your phone on.”
“I will.”
“And if anything feels wrong—”
“I leave.”
“No heroics.”
“I promise.”
I lied.
Because by then, I already knew exactly where I was going.
Robert’s study had one place I hadn’t searched.
A locked cabinet behind his desk.
I had seen him open it once.
He carried the key on his watch chain.
But that afternoon, I remembered something.
Robert kept a spare set of keys in the garage.
At 8:43 that night, I returned to the estate.
Every downstairs light was on.
Robert’s car was parked outside.
I entered through the kitchen.
“Robert?”
Nothing.
I walked into the living room.
Empty.
Dining room.
Empty.
Study.
Empty.
His jacket was draped over a chair.
His watch sat beside a glass of whiskey.
He was somewhere in the house.
I could hear water running upstairs.
Shower.
I had minutes.
I grabbed the watch.
There were three small keys attached to the chain.
I tried the first one.
Nothing.
Second.
Nothing.
Third.
Click.
The cabinet opened.
Inside were six folders.
A handgun.
Three passports.
And a small wooden box.
I ignored everything except the box.
There was a photograph taped to its lid.
My mother.
She looked maybe twenty-five.
Beside her stood a woman I had never seen before.
The woman was holding a baby.
Me.
I knew immediately.
The scar was visible on my left shoulder.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written:
“Helena Ward and Elena Ruiz. October 2002.”
Helena.
Not Saint Helena.
Helena Ward.
I opened the box.
Inside was a birth certificate.
I unfolded it.
My knees nearly gave out.
The child’s name was not Sophia Beltran.
It was:
“Isabella Ward.”
Mother:
Helena Ward.
Father:
Blank.
I stared at it until the letters blurred.
My mother wasn’t listed.
Elena Ruiz—the woman I had called Mom my entire life—wasn’t my biological mother.
There was another document beneath it.
A newspaper clipping.
“PHILADELPHIA WOMAN FOUND DEAD AFTER CHILDREN’S HOME FIRE.”
The photograph showed the same woman.
Helena Ward.
My biological mother.
I covered my mouth.
“No.”
My phone vibrated.
Julia.
I answered without speaking.
“Sophia,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Someone just entered your bedroom.”
My blood froze.
“What?”
“I’m watching the teddy-bear camera.”
I looked toward the study door.
“Robert?”
“No.”
The shower upstairs was still running.
“Then who?”
Julia didn’t answer.
“Julia?”
“Sophia…”
Her breathing changed.
“There’s a woman standing beside your bed.”
I couldn’t move.
“What woman?”
“I don’t know.”
“What is she doing?”
“She’s looking directly at the camera.”
The shower stopped.
I heard pipes groan inside the walls.
Robert was finished.
I hurriedly placed the papers inside my jacket.
“Sophia,” Julia whispered.
“What?”
“The woman just picked up the teddy bear.”
My stomach dropped.
The feed had been discovered.
Then Julia gasped.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“The camera just went black.”
Footsteps sounded upstairs.
Robert.
I closed the cabinet.
Locked it.
Returned the key to his watch.
Then I heard another sound.
Not upstairs.
Behind me.
A floorboard creaked in the hallway.
I turned.
The woman from my bedroom stood in the doorway.
She looked around fifty.
Dark hair streaked with gray.
A long black coat.
There were tears in her eyes.
Neither of us spoke.
Then she looked at the silver medallion around my neck.
Her face collapsed.
“Oh, Isabella.”
I stumbled backward.
“What did you call me?”
She stepped inside.
“Please don’t scream.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Mara.”
“I don’t know any Mara.”
“No.”
Her voice broke.
“But I know you.”
Footsteps sounded above us.
Robert was coming downstairs.
Mara’s eyes moved toward the ceiling.
Fear flashed across her face.
“We don’t have time.”
She grabbed my hand.
I pulled away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Sophia—Isabella—whatever Elena called you, you need to listen.”
“Who are you?”
She stared at me.
“I worked at Saint Helena.”
Everything inside me went still.
“The children’s home?”
She nodded.
“You were there the night it burned.”
My throat tightened.
“My mother was Helena Ward.”
Mara’s face changed.
“You found the certificate.”
“Yes.”
“Then Robert knows you’re looking.”
“He knows.”
She closed her eyes.
“God help us.”
“What happened that night?”
Mara looked toward the staircase.
Robert’s footsteps were getting closer.
“I can’t explain everything here.”
“Then give me one thing.”
“What?”
“The truth.”
She looked at me.
And whispered:
“The fire wasn’t an accident.”
My skin prickled.
“Robert started it?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Mara stared at me with an expression I couldn’t understand.
“Your mother.”
I felt as if she’d struck me.
“Helena?”
“No.”
Mara shook her head.
“Elena.”
The woman who raised me.
The woman lying in that hospital.
I backed away.
“You’re lying.”
“I watched her do it.”
“Why?”
“Because she had discovered what Robert was doing at Saint Helena.”
The footsteps stopped.
Robert had reached the bottom of the stairs.
Mara grabbed my wrist.
“Listen carefully. Twenty-two children supposedly died that night.”
“Supposedly?”
“Only nineteen bodies were recovered.”
I stared at her.
“But the newspaper said twenty-two.”
“They lied.”
“Why?”
“To hide the missing children.”
My mouth went dry.
“How many?”
“Three.”
“Who were they?”
Mara looked directly into my eyes.
“You were one.”
My pulse thundered.
“And the other two?”
Before she could answer, Robert’s voice came from the hallway.
“Mara.”
She froze.
Robert appeared behind her.
He wasn’t smiling anymore.
He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
His hair was wet.
His face looked almost calm.
But his eyes were terrifying.
“I wondered when you’d come back,” he said.
Mara stepped between us.
“You told me she was dead.”
Robert sighed.
“She was supposed to be.”
My body went cold.
Mara turned toward me.
“Run.”
Robert moved.
I didn’t wait.
I sprinted through the study’s side door and into the library.
Behind me, something crashed.
Mara screamed.
I ran toward the kitchen.
“Sophia!”
Robert’s voice echoed through the house.
I reached the back door.
Locked.
I twisted the deadbolt.
Nothing.
Then I remembered.
Doors that locked from the outside.
My hands shook as I tried again.
“Sophia!”
Closer.
I grabbed a dining chair and slammed it into the glass.
Once.
Twice.
The third strike shattered the pane.
I climbed through.
Glass tore my sleeve.
I hit the grass running.
My car was twenty yards away.
I reached it.
Unlocked it.
Jumped inside.
Then the passenger door opened.
I screamed.
Mara fell into the seat.
“Drive!”
There was blood on her forehead.
I slammed the accelerator.
The tires tore across the gravel.
Robert emerged from the house as we reached the gate.
He didn’t chase us.
He simply stood beneath the porch light.
Watching.
Mara twisted around.
“He’s letting us go.”
“Why?”
“Because he knows where we’re going.”
“I don’t even know where we’re going!”
“Yes, you do.”
She pointed at my necklace.
“The medallion.”
I touched it.
“What about it?”
“It isn’t jewelry.”
She reached toward it.
I flinched.
“Don’t.”
“Then open it yourself.”
“It doesn’t open.”
“Yes, it does.”
I looked down.
There was a tiny groove along the edge I had never noticed.
I pushed my fingernail into it.
Click.
The medallion separated.
Inside wasn’t a photograph.
It was a tiny brass key.
My hands began trembling.
“What does this open?”
Mara stared through the windshield.
“A deposit box.”
“Where?”
“Philadelphia.”
“What’s inside?”
“The reason Saint Helena burned.”
I looked at her.
“And the names of the other two children?”
Her face became pale.
“One of them is dead.”
“And the other?”
She hesitated.
That hesitation terrified me more than anything Robert had done.
“Mara.”
She looked at me.
“The other child grew up believing Robert was his father.”
I gripped the steering wheel.
“Who?”
Mara swallowed.
“Daniel.”
The car drifted slightly.
I corrected it.
“Daniel who?”
She said the last name.
And I nearly drove off the road.
Because I knew Daniel.
Everyone did.
He was Robert’s thirty-one-year-old son.
The same man whose childhood photographs covered the walls of Robert’s estate.
The same man living in London.
The same man my family had always introduced to me as my cousin.
But Mara wasn’t finished.
“Sophia, there’s something else.”
I could barely speak.
“What?”
“Robert wasn’t searching your scar because he was obsessed with you.”
My fingers tightened around the wheel.
“He was verifying your identity.”
“Why?”
“Because Helena marked all three children before the fire.”
My stomach twisted.
“Marked us how?”
“Three different scars.”
I touched the crescent on my shoulder.
“Why?”
“So someday, if the records disappeared, someone could still identify you.”
“Identify us as what?”
Mara turned toward me.
Her next words came slowly.
“Witnesses.”
I stared at her.
“We were babies.”
“Not witnesses to the fire.”
“Then witnesses to what?”
Mara’s eyes filled with tears.
“To who you really belonged to.”
Before I could ask what that meant, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Mara looked at the screen.
“Don’t answer.”
I answered.
“Hello?”
For several seconds, there was only breathing.
Then Robert spoke.
“You found the key.”
I looked at Mara.
“How do you know?”
“Because Elena always was sentimental.”
“You stay away from my mother.”
A soft laugh.
“Sophia, there is something you still don’t understand.”
“What?”
“Elena isn’t the person you need to protect.”
My heart began pounding.
“What are you talking about?”
“She didn’t have a stroke.”
My hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“What?”
“She was poisoned.”
The road blurred in front of me.
“You’re lying.”
“Ask the hospital what they found in her blood.”
My voice cracked.
“Did you do it?”
Silence.
“Robert, did you poison her?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
He exhaled.
“That is the question you should have asked before you trusted Mara.”
I slowly turned toward the passenger seat.
Mara was staring straight ahead.
“Mara?”
Robert continued.
“Ask her why she disappeared for twenty years.”
Mara’s hand moved inside her coat.
My entire body went rigid.
“Ask her,” Robert whispered, “what happened to the third child.”
Mara pulled something from her pocket.
Not a weapon.
A photograph.
She placed it on the dashboard.
Three infants were lying beside one another.
Each wore a silver medallion.
One baby had a crescent scar.
Me.
One had a small line beneath his ear.
Daniel.
And the third—
I stared at the face.
My breath stopped.
Because underneath the photograph someone had written three names.
Isabella.
Daniel.
Gabriel.
I whispered the final name.
“Gabriel.”
Mara began crying.
“Yes.”
“Who was he?”
She looked at me.
“Your brother.”
The phone nearly slipped from my hand.
“My brother?”
“Your twin.”
Everything inside me shattered.
I looked back at the photograph.
Two babies had the same dark eyes.
The same nose.
The same tiny curl of black hair.
Me.
And Gabriel.
“Robert said he’s dead.”
Mara shook her head.
“No.”
“But you said one of the children died.”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed to know whether you were working with Robert.”
My anger exploded.
“Stop lying to me!”
“Sophia—”
“Is Gabriel alive?”
She nodded.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what do you know?”
Mara wiped her face.
“I know Robert has spent twenty years looking for him.”
“Why?”
“Because Gabriel has something Robert needs.”
“What?”
She looked at the tiny brass key in my palm.
“The other half.”
A chill traveled through me.
“The other half of what?”
Mara stared ahead.
“Proof.”
My phone beeped.
Robert had ended the call.
Then another notification appeared.
A message.
From my mother’s number.
I almost dropped the phone.
My mother couldn’t speak.
She certainly couldn’t type quickly.
Yet the message had arrived seconds ago.
I opened it.
Four words appeared on the screen.
“DO NOT TRUST MARA.”
I looked at the woman beside me.
Mara was staring at my phone.
Her face drained of color.
Then another message arrived.
“ROBERT DIDN’T START THIS.”
A third.
“COME BACK TO THE HOSPITAL.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Then the final message appeared.
And when I read it, I understood why Robert had been entering my room at 2:17 every night.
Why he touched my scar.
Why he checked the medallion.
Why my mother had hidden my identity for twenty years.
The message said:
“GABRIEL IS HERE.”
I slammed on the brakes.
Mara screamed as the car skidded to a stop.
I stared at the glowing screen.
My twin brother—the child everyone had erased, the boy Robert had searched for across two decades—was inside the hospital with my mother.
Then my phone rang again.
This time, it wasn’t Robert.
It wasn’t Julia.
It wasn’t my mother.
The caller ID displayed a name I had never seen before.
GABRIEL WARD.
I answered.
Neither of us spoke.
Then a man’s trembling voice whispered:
“Sophia?”
My eyes filled with tears.
“Yes?”
There was a pause.
And then my brother said the sentence that made every lie I had uncovered feel small.
“Don’t come to the hospital.”
“Why?”
“Because the woman in that bed isn’t Elena.”
I stopped breathing.
“What did you say?”
Gabriel whispered:
“Our mother disappeared from that hospital three hours ago.”
And then I heard someone open a door on his end of the call.
Gabriel gasped.
A man’s voice spoke in the background.
A voice I recognized immediately.
Robert.
“Hello, Gabriel.”
The call went dead.
END OF PART 2
