Chapter 15
Danielle
I shove open the front door and barely manage to shut it behind me before the sob catches in my throat.
“Elle?” Tina’s voice calls from the kitchen, followed by the scrape of a chair.
I drop my keys on the entryway table and press my hands to my face. I can't stop shaking.
“I lost it, Tina. I yelled at him. I shoved him.” I wave my hand through the air like I’m trying to swat the memory away. “I told him I hated him. Called him a liar. Over and over.”
“Cal?” she asks, already moving toward me. “I thought you went to the group home to talk to the director.”
“I did,” I say. “I spoke to Meghan Fletcher. Then I found out… she’s Cal’s ex-wife.”
Tina’s eyes go wide. “Wait—what?”
I nod, the words like ash on my tongue. “The woman who told him I ran away. The woman who kept me from my sister. He married her.”
Tina blinks, stunned. “Holy hell, Elle.”
“Cal said he met her when he went to check on me. He said he believed her when she told him I ran away.” I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. “He said he thought the police were looking for me. That she was doing everything she could to find me.”
“And do you believe him?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I didn’t even give him a chance to explain.”
“The plot thickens,” she mutters. Then, more seriously, “Wait—you don’t think he was working in cahoots with Meghan, do you?”
“That’s exactly what I accused him of,” I say. “I don't know what to think anymore.”
I take a deep breath. “He tried to give me the keepsake box he made for me. And a gift bag.”
Tina tilts her head. “What was in the bag?”
“I didn’t look. I didn’t want anything from him. Not after everything. I just walked away.”
She takes my hand and gently tugs me toward the couch, sitting beside me. “So what do we do now?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But Meghan can’t get away with this. She kept me from Izzy. She lied to everyone. She had no right.”
“No, she didn’t,” Tina agrees. “And if she’s still working with kids…”
“She is.”
Tina’s jaw tightens. “That woman shouldn’t be allowed within ten feet of a school, let alone a group home.”
I rest my head back against the couch. “I feel like I’m drowning in this.”
“You’re not,” Tina says, her voice steady. “I’ve got you. We’ll take it one step at a time.”
***
When I finally pry open my bloodshot eyes, I squint at the clock. It’s almost eight o’clock, but it feels like I haven't slept at all. Every time I tried to relax, I’d see Cal’s handsome face, his eyes pleading with me to believe him.
I can’t.
There are just too many coincidences.
What if I'm wrong? I keep asking myself as I prepare to face another day with so many questions and no answers.
Half an hour later, I walk into the kitchen and am met with the aroma of fresh brewed coffee and toast—Tina’s staple breakfast fare.
“Do you want some scrambled eggs?” she asks when her eyes land on me. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks,” I say, reaching for a mug from the cupboard.
“Listen, Elle,” Tina begins, and the tone in her voice tells me she has something significant to say.
“What?” I ask, meeting her gaze.
“When I went out for a run this morning, your keepsake box and the gift bag were sitting by the door. They’re on the coffee table.”
“I don’t want them,” I say.
“I think you should see what’s inside,” she replies.
“You looked?” I ask.
“Not exactly,” she begins. “Not on purpose, anyway. And I’m not really sure what I saw, but I think it’s a child's drawing.”
“Beth,” I say, already walking away.
“That’s what I thought too,” she says, following me into the living room.
The first thing I pull out of the bag is a drawing—bright butterflies lining a blue sky, the name Izzy scrawled in big letters across the top.
Next is a lock of blonde hair tied with a purple ribbon, sealed in a plastic bag. A date is written on the front, along with the words first haircut.
Then comes a short note, written in elegant cursive. It’s dated four days after Izzy and I were separated.
Dear Dani,
My name is Johanna Callahan. I’m fostering your little sister, Izzy. She misses you very much and hopes she’ll be able to see you soon.
When your counselor gives permission for us to visit, I'll bring Izzy by to see you.
In the meantime, please know she is safe and well taken care of.
Sincerely,
Johanna
I feel tears slip from my eyes one by one, but I’m too focused on what’s in front of me.
More drawings. Notes in a child's handwriting. A card with I miss you! scrawled across it in crayon.
And more notes from Johanna, one after another, each one filling me in on Izzy’s life. A year's worth of updates, milestones and memories. Week after week. Month after month.
Then, at the bottom of the box, a handmade bracelet. Tiny, colorful beads spell out Izzy & Dani—Sisters Forever.
I slip it on before turning my attention to the keepsake box. It’s exquisitely handcrafted. I run my hand across the lid, smooth, with clean lines. My name is engraved just above a delicate floral carving. He didn’t miss a single detail.
I open it, and inside, nestled in velvet the color of deep violets, I find a folded piece of paper sitting on top of a stack of photos that make me catch my breath.
Izzy after losing her first tooth, proudly holding up the money from the tooth fairy.
Izzy on a tricycle.
Her first day of school, a tiny, glittery backpack slung over one shoulder.
Doing a handstand in what looks like a gymnastics class.
Wearing a cheerleading outfit, posing for the camera.
I look at Tina, her smile soft with understanding—Izzy’s life for an entire year. Happy. Safe.
But without me.
I unfold the letter. The handwriting isn’t Johanna’s. It’s all uppercase, masculine, written the way a cop would write.
Cal.
It's dated almost a year after I lost Izzy.
No. A year after he took her from me.
"Hey kid," it begins. It’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that Cal was already a man when I was still a child.
Hey kid,
I don’t know if you’ll even read this, or if you’ll want to. But I need to say a few things anyway. I didn’t forget you. Not for a single day. I kept coming back because I believed what you said to me.
That day at the bus station, when you bit me, right before you passed out, you said, "Bring her back, please. She's all I have."
I didn’t take that lightly. In fact, I had those words inked into my skin, right over the scar. That bite mark never faded, so I figured your words shouldn’t either.
Izzy’s safe. She’s happy. She’s still drawing you in every picture. You’re in everything we do.
There’s something else I need to tell you. When we adopted her, we changed her name. Not to erase anything, but because hearing 'Izzy' was just too much for her.
She cried every time someone said it. It reminded her too much of you, because you were the only one who called her that, just like she was the only one who called you Dani. So we talked about it, and we settled on Elizabeth Hazel. It’s different, but not a replacement.
I hope you can understand, and I hope it doesn’t make you angry. You’re still her sister. You always will be.
We're still here. Waiting as long as it takes.
—Cal
I hand the letter to Tina, unable to speak. My mind is reeling. She’s all I have.
I remember the first time I saw those words tattooed on Cal’s arm and thinking they had something to do with an ex… or maybe his daughter. Never imagining they had been my words.
I don’t even remember saying them. But he made sure he never forgot.
“Oh my gosh,” Tina whispers, her eyes wide. “Elle,” is all she can manage.
We both sit in silence for a long time, letting it all sink in.
"I should’ve been part of this family," I say quietly. "It feels like something else that was stolen from me. Not just Izzy, but a whole life I never got to have."
"I’m so sorry, Elle," she says. "Everything would've been different for you."
I nod, unable to speak.
"We would've never met," she says, slinging her arm around my shoulder.
"Cal would’ve been my brother," I murmur, the weight of that unrealized life finally sinking in.
"How does that make you feel?" she asks.
"It makes my heart ache," I say, meeting her gaze.
"Elle, you need to go talk to him."
"I need time to think," I say. "I'm just trying to process what all this means."
"It means that Cal didn't abandon you," she begins. "Look at all the evidence. Johanna's notes were pretty clear. They had every intention of adopting both of you. The only liar in this whole mess is Meghan."
I nod and start collecting all the photos and Cal's letter, tucking them back into the box.
***
After Tina leaves for work, I plop down on the couch and start going through the items in the gift bag again. I try to imagine Izzy sitting down to make them for me—crayon in hand, tongue probably poking out the side of her mouth in concentration.
Then I open the box and flip through the photos, one by one.
This was only one year of Izzy’s life.
I missed nine more.
The thought makes me sick.
I don’t cry, because I feel like I’ve run out of tears. I’m wrung out. Hollow.
I sit with the box in my lap, staring down at the pieces of a life I should’ve been part of. Her life. My life. A life someone else decided I didn’t deserve.
And then it hits me.
I can’t just sit here and let Meghan be an unfinished chapter in my story. This is my life, and I get to decide how the chapter ends. And I’m not settling for anything less than a good ending.
I grab my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find Mick Dawson.
He picks up on the second ring.
“Elle,” he says, his voice steady and gravelly like always. “What can I do for you?”
“I think I need your help again," I say softly.
“Name it.”
“Do you know anyone local who works with nonprofits? Like an attorney or a consultant?”
There’s a pause on the line. “You thinking about starting something?”
“No,” I say. “Not exactly. I want to get involved with the group home where I lived. It’s broken, Mick. It failed me, and probably a lot of other kids. And now that I know what really happened… I can’t just walk away.”
Another pause. Then his voice drops lower. “You sound like you have a plan. Are we talking revenge or reform?”
“Maybe both,” I say. “But I want to do it right. Legally. Quietly, if I have to. I just… I want to fix what I can. Make sure no one else gets pushed aside like I was.”
He lets out a breath. “Give me a few hours. I’ll make some calls and text you a couple names. People I trust.”
“Thank you, Mick.”
“Anytime, Elle. And hey—good on you. Not everyone would use pain like this to do something good.”
I glance down at Izzy’s drawing, my thumb brushing over the corner. “Yeah,” I murmur. “It’s time.”
***
Two hours later, I have the names of a local nonprofit attorney and a financial consultant.
I call both and schedule appointments for next week.
After I hang up, I glance toward the front door, debating.
I need to clear my head, and running always helps, but there's a good chance I’ll run into Cal.
Still, I can’t avoid him forever. With a deep breath, I lace up my shoes and head out.
When I glance at my watch, I realize Hannah’s bus will be rounding the corner in about seven minutes—just enough time for me to jog across the street and down to the start of the running trail before Cal steps outside to wait for her.
The sun’s climbing fast, and with it, the heat. It’s not unbearable yet, but the kind that clings to your skin and reminds you it’s only going to get worse. The air’s heavy with the smell of warm earth and dry grass, and sweat slides down my spine as I press forward on the trail.
Forty minutes in, my legs ache in that satisfying way that says I’ve pushed hard. My breaths are shallow, timed with each stride. I round a bend near the old creek bed, mostly dry this time of year.
Next thing I know, my foot lands wrong on a patch of loose gravel. My ankle rolls hard with a sickening pop that echoes in my head, and I go down.
“Oh no!” I hiss as I hit the dirt, my knees scraping the ground and pebbles embedding into my palms as I try to break the fall.
The pain is sharp and immediate, like a knife twisting in my ankle. I sit up slowly, trying to breathe through it, sweat stinging my eyes. Gingerly, I try to shift my weight—nope. Not happening. The second I move, a hot wave of pain shoots up my leg.
I glance around the trail. Empty, of course. Just me, a twisted ankle, and the heat with no shade in sight.
“Perfect,” I mutter, dragging my hand across my forehead, sticky with sweat.
It’s past noon, and the sun is brutal now—harsh and unforgiving, bearing down on me like a punishment. My water bottle’s back at the house… and so is my pride.
I carefully rise to my feet and hop on one foot over to a large boulder, leaning against it to think and weigh my options.
I hate this.
I hate that I don’t have another choice.
But I know what I have to do to get home.
I pull out my phone and stare at the screen, already knowing exactly who I need to call.
Cal.
God help me.