Chapter 2
TWO
The mug slips from my hand and breaks on the floor. Coco manages to escape to the living room area before the shards scatter and hot coffee splashes over my ankles, staining the white tiles. I don’t feel the pain or the heat. I can’t feel my feet at all.
All I feel is my heart beating loudly in my chest, so loud it seems like it could break my ribs.
It’s her. It’s my daughter in that photo. Is she really alive?
As I allow this to sink in, a sudden chill spreads through my body, pressing against my skin, chilling me from within.
My eyes sting as I bend down, my hands sweaty as I hold the photo between trembling fingers. The edges bend a little under my grip, and panic rises that I might damage it, as if it’s fragile evidence I can’t afford to taint or destroy.
My hands won’t stop shaking as I turn the photo over again to have another look. Tears blur my vision, so I blink and try again. Slowly, she comes into focus—her heart-shaped face, her black hair, and the pale scar in the middle of her forehead from when she fell in kindergarten at five.
I remember that day clearly. I picked her up and saw a big pink scrape on her face.
My little girl was always so brave. But seeing her hurt made me ache. I confronted the carers for not telling me or covering the scrape. I moved her to a new place the very next week.
Over the years, the wound healed, and the scar faded, but not enough for a mother to forget it’s there.
This girl in the photo is definitely my daughter.
Getting to my feet, I hold my breath and bring the photo close to my face to read the rest of the text, even though it wobbles before my watery eyes.
She’s alive. Don’t go to the police if you want to keep it that way.
“She’s alive,” I whisper, barely making a sound as Coco returns to the kitchen, sniffing the spilled coffee.
My throat dry and my breathing shallow, I stare at the words, letter by letter, forcing myself to believe them. Repeating them feels like it might make them real, less likely to disappear.
There’s something else in the envelope. A yellow sticky note with more writing. It looks like it was once stuck to the photo and detached.
I take it out and read the words on it. They hit me hard and turn the rest of my world upside down.
Your husband knows more about her disappearance than you do.
I sink to the floor as my legs give out. Even when my knees hit the tile, I ignore the pain.
While Coco runs to the balcony doors and barks, asking to be let out, coffee seeps into my shorts, warm and sticky, but I hardly notice.
Nothing matters except the words in my hand, the photograph, the girl looking back at me from the glossy paper. The thought that Gabriel might have hidden something from me. What?
The ever-present pain in my lower back flares up even more as I turn the photo over again, searching the teenage girl’s face. No one can tell me this isn’t her. I’m her mother; I would recognize her anywhere.
And her moss-green eyes.
Those eyes are unmistakable. They look straight into mine, almost reaching through the photograph, as if trying to tell me something. There’s sadness there, but also something I can’t quite read.
All I know is that they’re not the same as I remember. The fire that once burned behind them is gone, their usual defiance nowhere to be seen.
I did my best to be a good mother, to protect my daughter from the pain of this world. But maybe I went a little too far. Gabriel used to think I was too strict, that I might suffocate Sadie by holding on too tight and making too many rules.
Sadie felt the same way, and we argued all the time, especially when she hit puberty. My little girl suddenly became hostile and rejected everything I suggested.
Looks like instead of protecting her, I might have pushed her away.
Oh God. What if these words are true? What if my daughter is not dead, after all?
I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose, attempting to steady myself. My vision blurs even more, dark spots appearing behind my eyelids.
It can’t be real. It can’t. It’s been six months.
There was a massive search, but she was never found at sea. And now this?
And what does it have to do with Gabriel? The thought lands like another blow to the sternum.
I remain on the floor, unmoving, coffee soaking into fabric and skin, time passing by without me being aware of it.
Suddenly, adrenaline rushes through me, and I scramble to my feet too fast. The room sways, then steadies enough for me to walk straight.
I grab my handbag and pull out my phone to dial Gabriel. He answers on the second ring.
Gabriel and I didn’t drive up together because he had a court case he had to wrap up. And it’s just as well because the silence between us when we are in the same car these days is so thick and cold. Losing Sadie did not only break our hearts, it left a crack in the foundation of our marriage.
“Hey. Already there?”
As soon as I hear his deep voice, tears fill my eyes. I can’t speak. My mouth opens, but no words come out.
“Judy? Are you there? Are you crying, sweetheart?”
“She’s alive,” I whisper, my voice shaking and my pulse drumming in my ears. “Gabriel, I got a photo. Someone sent it. A photo of her.”
“What are you talking about?” he asks.
“Sadie’s alive,” I hiss.
The pause on the other end lasts so long I think he might have dropped the phone.
Then, softly, “Judy… what do you mean?”
“I was sorting the mail.” I force myself to keep breathing as Coco returns to me, pressing her nose to my leg in an attempt to comfort me. “There was an envelope with a photo inside. The girl looks like Sadie.”
“That’s not possible,” he says. “Sadie—we know—” His voice breaks on the last word.
“But there’s writing on the back,” I cut him off. “It says she’s alive. And that if we want to keep it that way, we shouldn’t go to the police.”
“That can’t be true.” Gabriel’s voice is tight. “You know this has to be some kind of joke, right?”
“Who would do that?” I snap, picking Coco up. “Who would play a joke like this?”
“I don’t know.” Gabriel sighs. “You know the case was big news. What if someone’s playing a prank?”
“Gabriel, the photo looks real. And she’s standing in front of the camp.”
“The camp?” There’s a pause. “I don’t know, baby. It still sounds like a cruel joke. Why don’t you wait until I get there? I’ll take a look too.”
“How far are you?”
“An hour, maybe. Scarlett should arrive before me. Please try not to get too upset.”
“Okay, I’ll see you soon.”
I hang up and stare at my phone, his words repeating in my head. Maybe he’s right.
But what if he’s wrong?
What if my daughter is really out there?
I love her, I loved her, with everything in me, even when things were hard. Even when we fought, especially then.
And now this. This fragile, dangerous hope. The first bit of hope I’ve had in months. How could I possibly let it slip away? How could I survive losing her twice?
I press the photograph to my chest, holding it as if I could warm her with my body, as if she could feel me wherever she is. The paper crinkles lightly in my hand.
After filling Coco’s bowl with water and opening the balcony doors, I sink back to the floor, still holding the photo to my heart. Tears drip onto the tiles as I cling to her image. My body curls around it, protective.
“Baby,” I whisper, my voice breaking, “if you’re out there, I will find you.”