Chapter 12 - LUCY
Her name was Lucy.
Rachel Ames called us herself.
She had not fled with Marianne.
She had fled from her.
Rachel was thirty-four.
Former nursing student.
Widowed.
Seven years earlier, she had agreed to carry a child through what she believed was a legal private surrogacy arrangement.
She was told the genetic parents had died.
The embryo belonged to an estate.
She would receive compensation.
After the birth, the child would go to relatives.
Except nobody came.
Voss called.
Said the arrangement had changed.
Rachel could keep the baby temporarily.
Payments would continue.
Then years passed.
Lucy became hers in every way that mattered.
“She calls me Mom,” Rachel said through tears.
I sat motionless.
“What did Marianne tell you?”
“That Lucy belongs to her family.”
“She doesn’t.”
“I know that now.”
“Where are you?”
Rachel hesitated.
Leah spoke gently.
“Rachel, Marianne may be dangerous.”
“I know.”
“Let us protect you.”
Silence.
Then Rachel named a town in Maine.
We flew there under federal protection.
I spent the flight staring at photographs Rachel had sent.
Lucy.
Brown hair.
Gray-green eyes.
Missing front tooth.
Holding a science-fair volcano.
Standing in rain boots beside a dog.
I saw my mother in her face.
My father around her eyes.
And myself at six.
I cried without sound.
When we arrived at the safe house, Rachel stood on the porch.
Lucy hid behind her coat.
I stopped several feet away.
I had imagined this moment during the flight.
Running to her.
Holding her.
Calling her my daughter.
Reality humbled me.
She did not know me.
Rachel was her mother.
Love did not obey genetics.
So I crouched.
“Hi.”
Lucy stared.
“Hi.”
“My name is Evelyn.”
“I know.”
That surprised me.
“Rachel told you?”
She nodded.
“She said you’re my other mom.”
My throat closed.
“If that’s okay with you.”
Lucy looked at Rachel.
Rachel smiled through tears.
Lucy looked back.
“Do you know Frozen?”
I laughed.
“Yes.”
“That’s good.”
“Why?”
“Mom doesn’t sing it right.”
Rachel covered her face.
I laughed harder than I had in months.
Maybe years.
And somehow that was how I met my daughter.
Not in a courtroom.
Not through DNA.
Through a complaint about a Disney song.
We spent two hours together.
I showed Lucy photographs of Noah and Eli.
“Those are my brothers?”
“If you want them to be.”
“They’re tiny.”
“They are.”
“Do they do anything?”
“Mostly eat.”
“That’s boring.”
I smiled.
For two hours, the conspiracy disappeared.
Then an agent entered.
His expression brought it back.
Marianne had been located.
Not arrested.
Located.
She was at an airport outside Montreal.
Using a false passport.
The aircraft she attempted to board belonged to an offshore company.
Its passenger manifest listed two names.
Marianne Sterling.
And Lucy Ames.
The plan had been prepared weeks earlier.
Marianne intended to take Lucy.
Rachel began shaking.
“Why?”
I knew.
“Because Lucy is a Hart descendant.”
Leah finished the thought.
“And unlike newborn twins, she’s old enough for someone to manufacture a custody narrative.”
There was more.
The offshore company had transferred thirty million dollars that morning.
To a legal defense trust.
Beneficiary:
Lucy Hart.
Marianne was still trying to use my child as a financial weapon.
This time, I did not call my lawyers first.
I called the prosecutor.
“Find Marianne.”
“We are.”
“No.”
May you like
My voice became cold.
“Find her before she finds my daughter.”
