Chapter 13
Danielle
“Knock-knock,” Tina calls from the hallway.
“Come in,” I say, stepping back from the bed.
She walks in and stops short. “Wow. It looks amazing in here.”
The bed sits centered between two tall windows, just like Beth wanted—she said she likes waking up to sunlight on both sides.
The walls are painted a soft lavender, the color she picked after twenty minutes of flipping through swatches.
White sheer curtains hang loosely, pulled back with silver butterfly tiebacks.
The same delicate butterflies are embroidered across the comforter in soft purples and pinks.
“Where’s Izzy?” Tina asks, walking over to the nightstand where a framed 5x7 photo of me and Beth sits.
“She left a few minutes ago,” I say, smoothing the comforter.
"I must've just missed her," she says, picking up the picture.
“That's one of the only pictures I have of Beth and me together," I say, glancing at the photo. Beth's arms are around my neck, both of us smiling. "She must’ve been about three.”
“Beth?” she says, meeting my gaze.
“We talked about her name and agreed I’d call her Beth from now on.”
“Okay,” she says, nodding gently. “Then I’ll call her Beth too.”
“It’s who she’s been for the past ten years,” I say. “Beth is someone I’m just now getting to know. She’s not the baby I lost all those years ago.”
The child I knew as Izzy lives only in my memory, a piece of my heart untouched by time.
Tina watches me for a moment, sensing the shift in my mood. “It smells like vanilla and clean linen in here,” she says, changing the subject. She inhales deeply, eyes closing for a second.
“I wish she could live here," I say. "Instead of just spending the night every so often.”
Tina sets the photo down and turns to me. “It’s more than you had just a month ago.”
“Let the healing begin,” I say dryly.
“Elle, your sister is back in your life. It’s what you’ve prayed for all these years.”
“I’m thankful,” I say. “Please don’t think I’m ungrateful.”
“Then what is it?”
“I want to know what happened," I say. "I want access to my records from the group home. Someone lied about me, sabotaged me, and I want to know who and why.”
“It won’t change anything.”
“Why not? What happened to me was wrong. It changed the course of both our lives. And I don’t know that I can really move forward until I get to the bottom of it.”
“Okay,” she says gently. “How can I help?”
“When you talked to Cal… you said he believed I ran away?”
“Yeah,” she nods. “I’m certain he had no idea you were at the group home until you turned eighteen. He looked stunned. Honestly, he looked like he needed a hug. Over six feet of solid muscle, and he just collapsed inside. I could see it.”
“I can’t forgive him,” I say, hearing what she’s not saying. “And he’s not getting a hug from me.”
“How are you and Beth supposed to build a relationship if you’re hating on her brother?”
“He’s not her brother,” I snap. “I’m her family.”
“Elle—”
“Elle, nothing,” my voice is sharp. “The Callahans, Beth, and I are not going to miraculously transform into one big happy family. I can be in her life without ever seeing Cal, or Jackson, whatever his name is.”
“You’re being unfair,” she says. “But have you stopped and considered that maybe, just maybe, we’re barking up the wrong tree?”
I meet her gaze. “I don’t bark, remember? I bite.”
“Ha, ha,” she laughs. “So what’s your plan?”
“I’m driving to the group home tomorrow. I’m going to ask them for my records.”
“They won’t give them to you,” she says. “I’m sure they include details about Beth and her adoption. If it was closed, they’re legally bound to keep everything sealed.”
“What are you now, a family attorney?”
“No, but it makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“Well, I have to try. If they say no, I’ll figure something else out.”
She pauses, thoughtful. “Based on what you’ve told me… the only person who could’ve been feeding information to the Callahans while you were at the group home had to be that Fletcher chick, right?”
“Ms. Fletcher and I got off to a rough start, I’ll admit that—but we became friends.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you were her friend… but was she really yours?”
“You sound jaded.”
“I’ve just seen how petty some women can be. Some hold grudges. Some are vengeful—for no reason at all.”
***
The group home looks exactly like I remember.
The same worn porch steps. The same chime when the door opens. Like no time has passed at all, even though it’s been six years since I walked out of this place.
A tall woman with a sleek blonde bun and familiar blue eyes appears at the door. She looks at me with a polite smile.
“Hi, can I help you?”
I study her for a moment. Her face is a little older, but it’s definitely her.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m looking for Meghan Fletcher.”
She tilts her head slightly. “That’s me.”
I nod once. “You knew me as Dani Hartman.”
She freezes, smile faltering. Her eyes flicker with something—shock, discomfort, maybe even guilt.
“Dani,” she breathes. “I—wow. Look at you.”
I don’t smile. I don’t offer a hug. I don’t say it’s good to see her.
“Can we talk in your office?”
“Of course,” she says quickly, stepping aside. “Come in.”
I follow her down the familiar hallway, the one where I used to wait for my turn with my counselor, the one where I waited for news about Izzy that never came.
She opens the door to her office, gestures to the chair across from her desk, then shuts the door behind us.
“This is... a surprise,” she says, settling into her chair. “You look well.”
I ignore the pleasantry. “I’m here for my records.”
She blinks. “Your records?”
“Yes. Everything from my time here.”
Meghan folds her hands neatly on the desk. "Those records are confidential. Especially anything involving another minor. I’m sure you understand—”
“I’m not asking for anyone else’s file. Just mine.”
“They’re sealed,” she says carefully. “It’s the law. Especially since your sister’s adoption was closed.”
“I know it was closed,” I snap. “But I still deserve to know what was said about me. What decisions were made, and who made them.”
She lets out a long breath. “Dani, you had a very difficult time here. You were grieving, angry. There were outbursts—”
“Do not rewrite my history,” I say sharply. “I want to know exactly what was in my file. What was told to my sister's adoptive family. What you told them.”
“I didn’t—” Her voice cracks, and she swallows. “I shared appropriate updates as needed. Nothing more.”
“You told them I ran away.”
She hesitates.
My heart pounds. “It was you.”
“I don’t recall saying that,” she says quietly, eyes shifting.
“You don’t recall? You either did or you didn’t.”
“I followed the recommendations at the time. You were not in a stable place—”
“That’s a lie,” I say, standing. “You lied. You made me look unstable, dangerous. You buried me in that file and walked away.”
“I did what was best for everyone,” she says, her voice louder now.
“What was best?” I hiss. “What you did was take ten years of my life away. My sister had to live ten years without me. She was a baby. Unable to understand why her sister disappeared. And you have the nerve to sit there and tell me it's what was best? Best for whom, exactly?”
“Are you accusing me of some—"
“I’m not accusing you,” I cut in. “I’m naming you. You were the only one who had control over my records. You were the only one who could’ve twisted the story.”
Silence stretches. Meghan’s mouth opens, then closes again.
“I’m not letting this go,” I say. “What you did to me might’ve been a game to you, but it was my life.”
Meghan stares at me, her face tight, unreadable.
“You thought because I was a kid, I’d never find out? I’m not a child anymore. Don’t think for a second I won’t tear this place apart to get the truth.”
She doesn’t say a word, but I don’t need her to. Her silence is confession enough.
“You’re going to regret underestimating me,” I whisper. Then I turn and walk out, not bothering to shut the door behind me.
***
Back in the car, I sit in silence, willing my heart to stop thudding and my body to stop trembling like a leaf. I grip the steering wheel with both hands, eyes closed. I want to scream, but instead, I breathe—slow and deep—refusing to let the truth swallow me.
Meghan Fletcher stole the only chance I had at a normal life, and I don’t even know why.
"Is everything okay, miss?"
The husky voice right outside my window nearly makes me jump out of my skin.
"I'm sorry," he says quickly. "Didn't mean to startle you."
I look up, and meet the kind, dark brown eyes of Cedric Pearson, the home's maintenance man. It's been six years, but I'd recognize him anywhere.
He’s a tall, broad-shouldered Black man in his fifties, with warm eyes and a gentle voice that always made the younger kids feel safe.
The corners of his eyes are etched with smile lines, and his grin is just as I remember it, easy and trustworthy.
Cedric was the kind of man who’d fix a leaky faucet and stay an extra five minutes to make sure your day was okay too.
"Cedric." I whisper.
"Yes, ma'am," he says, his eyes brightening with recognition. "Dani? Is that really you?"
"Yes, it's me," I say, feeling my nerves settle, my breathing finally sliding back into a normal rhythm.
Cedric lets out a soft chuckle, the kind that rumbles from deep in his chest.
"Well, I'll be," he says. "Look at you, all grown up."
I manage a small smile. "It's been a long time."
He nods, his expression turning gentle. "Too long. But I can't blame you for not wanting to come back to this place."
"That was a dark time in my life," I admit. "But it's over now."
"I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately," he says, glancing down and kicking some dust with his foot.
"You have?" I ask. "Why's that?"
He doesn't respond right away, almost like he's weighing how much he should say. "There was an investigator here not too long ago," he says, glancing around to make sure no one can hear us.
"Dawson," I say. "I hired him to find my little sister."
"And?" he asks, his gaze hopeful.
“We found her,” I say, unable to hide my smile.
“That’s great, Dani,” he says, then glances around again. “But… Ms. Fletcher’s husband was also here asking about you.”
I chuckle. “I never met her husband,” I say. “You must be mistaken.”
“No, ma’am,” he says. “I had lunch with him a few days ago.”
“Why would Mr. Fletcher be asking about me?”
“No, his name’s not Fletcher,” he says. “His name is Callahan. I forget his first name, but he goes by Cal.”
If I wasn’t already sitting, I’m sure I would’ve felt the earth crumble under me.