Chapter 12
Cal
From my front porch, I watch my parents pull out of Elle's driveway, followed by Tina, who heads toward the running trail across the road. That leaves Beth and Elle alone in the house.
I consider catching up to Tina, asking her to convince Elle to talk to me. But I quickly remind myself—Tina is Elle’s friend, not mine. Her loyalty lies with her.
Still, I’m an idiot, so I take off after her until I’m jogging at her side.
“Well, if it isn’t good cop, bad cop."
“Tina, I was doing my job.”
“You destroyed her life,” she snaps, stopping short to face me. “You weren’t there the nights she woke up shaking, drenched in sweat, after the same nightmare she’s had for years—the one where her sister is ripped from her arms.”
“She doesn’t have the whole story,” I say in my defense.
"Let me see,” she begins, tapping her finger against her lips.
“She told you she was going to see her grandfather. You could’ve let her go—but you didn’t.
Instead, you took the only family she had and left her to rot in that group home.
And then, to top it off, you took Izzy and raised her as your own.
That sounds a lot like abduction to me. Did I miss anything? ”
“It wasn’t like that, and you know it. If she’d only let me explain—”
“That ship has sailed, my friend. No—scratch that. You’re not my friend. Because friendship runs both ways. And I am not yours.”
She starts walking away from me.
“Tina, please. I’m just asking for two minutes.”
She stops and turns to face me. “You’ve got one.”
“When I found out their grandfather didn’t want them, I talked to my parents,” I say quickly, knowing I have to get the important parts out. “They intended to adopt both girls from the start.”
“Then why didn’t they?” she asks, her lips pressed tight, like she’s holding back a string of choice words.
"Elle had emotional and mental health issues that needed to be addressed before she could be reunited with Izzy."
"And who exactly gave you that bogus piece of intel?"
"Tina, it was all in her file," I say. "I kept tabs on Elle for an entire year... until she ran away."
Her eyes narrow, and she lets out a short, humorless breath—almost a laugh.
"That’s just it, Dick Tracy. She never ran away."
"What?!" I snap, unable to mask my shock.
"Your minute’s up," she fires back, then turns on her heel and takes off down the trail.
***
I hadn’t thought about that day in years—the day I drove to Hanover. That brick fortress of a group home, too quiet for a place full of teenage girls. I remember thinking: This can’t be where kids spend the better part of their lives.
A tote bag with Dani's belongings from the foster home sat on the floor beside me as I waited in the lobby, my eyes focused on the assistant director's office door, waiting for her to come out.
Then I saw her.
Tall. Long blond hair. Younger than I expected.
The kind of presence that made you straighten your back without thinking.
Striking looks. Calm demeanor—or maybe just controlled.
She wore a navy blazer, her heels clicking sharply on the polished floor, a subtle trace of perfume reaching me as she crossed the front lobby.
"You must be Officer Callahan," she said, her voice smooth as silk, yet clipped at the edges. "We spoke on the phone. I'm the assistant director."
"Ms. Fletcher," I said, shaking her hand—still sporting a bandage over the bite on my forearm. "Thanks for seeing me on such short notice. I'm here to check on a girl we brought in last week. Danielle Hartman. She’s fourteen, small with blond hair."
She smiled faintly. “Ah, yes. Dani.” She folded her arms loosely across her chest, glancing down the hallway like she was weighing what she’d say next. “May I ask why the interest? Most officers don’t follow up.”
"My parents want to adopt Dani's little sister, Izzy,” I said. “And ideally, we’d like to adopt both girls—keep them together.”
A beat of silence followed, her eyes assessing me briefly before she spoke.
"You said we, Mr. Callahan. Are you personally looking to adopt the girls?"
"No," I chuckled. "I come from a big family, and the decision to adopt the girls was made together."
“That’s... admirable,” she said. “But Dani isn’t ready.”
I leaned forward slightly. “Is she okay?”
“Follow me,” she said. “We can talk in private.”
I picked up the tote bag and followed her into her office.
The room was small, almost clinical—bare walls, no photos, nothing to soften the starkness.
“Take a seat, Mr. Callahan,” she said, settling behind a desk that felt too large for the space.
I sat and tried to keep my voice calm. “If something’s going on with Dani, I need you to tell me. It’s important.”
“Dani is a very angry child," she said, pressing her lips together. "Understandably so. She lashes out. Withdraws. She’s fixated on being separated from her sister, which makes her even more emotionally volatile.”
“She’s fourteen,” I said. “She doesn’t need to be perfect. She needs to be with her sister.”
She smiled again, softer this time. Sympathetic. “I know. Believe me, I wish it were that simple. I’d hate to see her jeopardize your family's chances of adopting the younger girl because she isn’t emotionally stable.”
I found myself nodding slowly. What she said made sense. I hated that it made sense.
“She’s actually asked about you.”
That caught me off guard. “Really?”
“Well... maybe not asked," she clarified. "But she mentioned the officer she bit.”
“Yeah. That was me.”
She smiled—a dazzling, practiced smile. A small birthmark hovered above her full lips. It made it difficult to focus on anything else. “You’re braver than most. I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of that girl’s teeth.”
I let out a low chuckle. “She thought we were taking her away from her only family.”
She tilted her head, eyes studying me with unnerving calm. “Isn’t that exactly what you did?”
The words hit harder than they should have—because they were true.
“Yes, we separated them. But what we want now is to reunite them. They both deserve a chance. A home.”
Her smile lingered this time, softer, almost admiring. “Not many men would go this far. It’s... rare.”
A beat of silence followed. Just long enough to shift the air between us.
“I’ll keep you updated,” she said, standing. The movement was deliberate, signaling our conversation was over. “Elle’s got a long road ahead, but if she makes progress, we can talk about a supervised visit.”
I rose to my feet. “Thank you, Ms. Fletcher,” I said, handing her Dani's things. “Can you make sure she gets this?”
She smiled again, a little slower this time, just enough to draw me in.
“Of course,” she said. “And please, call me Meghan.”
***
Every other week, I’d stop by the group home with something in hand.
Mostly drawings from Izzy, little notes scrawled in crayon, updates from my mom about school, bedtime routines, Izzy’s latest fascination with butterflies or pink glitter shoes.
My parents never missed a detail. I figured if Dani couldn’t be with her sister, the least we could do was make it a bit less difficult.
I wasn’t allowed to see Dani directly. Meghan let me know it was the therapist's recommendation until further notice.
"She needs space," Meghan said.
So I handed things off to her. Letters, photos of Izzy with a toothless grin, her first day of school, a birthday party, the special drawing of the three of us—Dani, Izzy, and me—holding hands in front of our house. She labeled us like a school project: Me. Dani. Cal. She spelled my name with a K.
I remember thinking: maybe Dani would laugh at that.
Six months went by. The adoption was finalized. Izzy was officially a Callahan, and I wanted Dani to know we hadn’t forgotten her. I sat down one night and wrote her a letter. Nothing fancy, just honest. I even told her about the tattoo.
I gave the envelope to Meghan like I had every other one, thinking maybe this one would finally reach Dani. Make her want to talk to me.
Two weeks later, I came back, and Meghan handed the unopened letter back to me.
“I'm sorry," she said, her voice clipped. “She didn't want it. Wouldn't even touch it. She said she doesn’t care to hear from you or your family ever again.”
She didn’t say it cruelly, not exactly. Just flat. Like it was the truth, and it had always been the truth.
"What about Izzy?" I asked, dumbfounded.
"We can't reward her bad behavior," she said. "It wouldn't be healthy for either of them."
And I believed her.
I told myself it made sense—Dani was angry, grieving. Maybe she really didn’t want to hear from the guy who’d taken her sister. I honored her wishes and never wrote to her again, but Izzy continued sending her letters and photos.
Six months later, Meghan called to let me know Dani had ran away. A week after her fifteenth birthday.
“Took off in the middle of the night,” she said. “Didn’t leave a note. Nothing.”
And again, I believed her.
It wasn’t until today, standing on that trail with Tina—her voice still echoing in my head—that I learned the truth.
“That’s just it, Dick Tracy. She never ran away.”
She never ran away.
I walk over to my desk drawer and pull the letter out. Never could bring myself to throw it away.
Some part of me always wondered… what if I’d done more? What if I’d pushed harder?
But back then, I trusted Meghan Fletcher.
So much so that I married her.
That’s the part I can’t forgive.
***
The knock on the door an hour later announces Beth's visit.
She has a special knock: rap-rap. Pause. Rap-rap-rap. The opening line of You Are My Sunshine. Her favorite song—because Dani used to sing it to her every night at bedtime.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, a wave of pain and anger battling to see which will rise to the surface first.
I open the door and find Beth grinning ear to ear. Her smile eases some of the pain inside me, but the anger only grows—fueled by the innocence on my sister’s face.