Chapter 114
Kirsten
@FBIpressrelations, TikTok
Maple Clark has been found unharmed at a private dwelling in San Bernardino County and the alleged perpetrator in her kidnap is deceased. We are not looking for anyone else in relation to this matter. Please do not speculate as this is a live investigation.
I slam the door of the Uber X and take a moment to reset.
It’s been a terrible day – worst of my life, for sure – but I know no one inside this building will care about my problems. The online hate, the hours it took to replace my broken phone, the migraine that has cursed me all day.
And the final straw: finding out that Garrett made himself the hero without even giving me the chance to get to Maple first.
Well, I’m here now, ready to step in. To remind everyone that it’s Mom and Maple forever.
I run my fingers through my hair, pray that my reapplied makeup hides the dark circles, and walk inside the San Bernardino Sheriff’s Office.
It’s only a small place, and I can see Maple sitting in the open-plan office beyond the glass screen of the reception area.
She’s surrounded by a pile of empty snack packets that would normally make me shudder. Still do, to be frank.
Garrett is there too, and the twins, bless them, plus Dylan of course, Maple’s limpet.
And a man I don’t recognize, although there’s something vaguely familiar about him.
As I stare at them all, I feel a little like Patrick Swayze in that film Ghost, watching life go on without me.
But I shake the feeling away. My marriage might be over, but those are my kids.
‘Can I help you?’ the officer behind the reception desk asks. She looks suspicious, like she has one expression that goes with the uniform and isn’t prepared to mix and match.
‘I’m with them,’ I say, pointing at my family and giving her my sunniest smile. ‘I’m Kirsten Clark, Maple’s mother.’ She doesn’t look impressed, but she presses a button somewhere under the desk and nods at the door. A low buzz sounds and I push it open.
‘Mom!’ Maple calls out as soon she sees me.
My eyes instantly blur with tears. She looks so bedraggled.
Gaunt and tired. Greasy hair and pimples on her chin.
‘My poor Maple honey,’ I murmur, taking her in my arms. She smells terrible, but of course she would.
She’s been gone for three days. Chained to a bed for more than two. ‘Thank God you’re safe.’
‘I’m sorry I ran away,’ she mumbles into my chest. ‘I was so stupid, trusting some random guy online. I was just desperate to find Ella; I wasn’t thinking straight.’
‘Oh yes, about that,’ I say, pulling away slightly and trying not to look too smug. ‘I found Ella for you.’
Maple’s eyes widen with such a heady mix of shock and joy that all the stresses of the day melt away. ‘You did?’ she asks. ‘But how?’
I take a moment to give Garrett my most triumphant look, then turn back. ‘You know me, Maple. You wanted to find Ella, so of course I was going to help with that. I hired the best PI in Utah.’
Maybe there’s hint of disappointment in Maple’s face, a lone expert doing a better job than a hive of Gen Alphas, but her expression quickly clears. ‘Where is she?’ she asks. ‘Is she okay?’
‘Well, she’s living in Century City in LA, in the most opulent penthouse I’ve ever been in.’ I decide not to mention the OnlyFans work, or the pills she dry-swallows.
Maple beams, then turns to Dylan. ‘Did you hear that? Ella’s alive, and she’s doing great off grid, all by herself.’
Dylan looks at me suspiciously. ‘And you’re sure this isn’t another one of your fake stories?’ he asks.
‘That would be my guess,’ Garrett mutters.
‘Of course I am,’ I say. God, those two deserve each other. I turn to Maple. ‘She apologized for not contacting you, but her privacy is very important to her; she didn’t feel like she could risk it.’
Maple nods but she looks sad, like she assumes Ella not wanting to talk to her must be her fault.
Which is funny, because I’m pretty sure it’s really because Ella doesn’t believe she’s worthy of Maple’s concern.
But Maple would never understand that because she’s never made a shameful decision in her life.
Stupid, yes. Very, very stupid. But stupidity is easy to forgive because it’s an imperfection.
Shameful is different. Shame is knowing what you’re doing is bad but doing it anyway.
Like stripping for men and choosing to believe that anonymity keeps you pure.
Or having unprotected sex with a man you barely know.
‘Mom, you know, you should probably meet Brandon.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Brandon,’ Maple repeats. But then her pale face glows beetroot. ‘Shit, that’s stupid. Of course you’ve met him before.’
Brandon. Why is that name familiar?
Oh God.