Claire took my phone from my hand and read the two messages twice.
Her face did not change immediately. That frightened me more than panic would have. She simply stood beside my kitchen table, Milo’s bottle warmer humming on the counter behind her, and stared at the screen with the concentration of someone fitting a new piece into an old pattern.
“Don’t answer,” she said.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Don’t delete them either.”
“I’ve been saving everything.”
“Good.”
She handed the phone back, then looked toward the windows.
I followed her gaze.
My apartment faced a narrow parking lot, three low buildings, and a row of winter-bare trees. Nothing moved except a plastic grocery bag dragging along the asphalt.
“You think he’s outside?”
“I think we need to stop assuming the only information he has is what we tell him.”
A chill moved across my shoulders.
“How would he know you’re here?”
Claire walked to the window but did not stand directly in front of it. She angled herself beside the curtain.
“He may not know where I am. The message could be a guess.”
“That sounded pretty specific.”
“I know.”
Milo began fussing against my chest.
I lifted him free of the carrier, and Claire’s attention moved instantly to him. Her expression softened in a way I had not seen before.
“He’s hungry?”
“Probably.”
“I can warm the bottle if you want.”
The offer surprised me.
“Sure.”
She moved around my kitchen with careful restraint, asking before opening a cabinet, checking the bottle temperature against her wrist.
For half a second, she looked less like Julian’s wife and more like what she also was.
A mother.
I settled Milo in my arms and fed him while Claire returned to the folder.
“The residential program Elias entered wasn’t the one he stayed in,” she said.
“Where did he go?”
“That took months to trace.”
She pulled out several pages covered in dates and handwritten notes.
“The first organization closed after a funding investigation. Children were transferred. Elias moved three times before he was four.”
The idea of a baby being moved from place to place without his mother even knowing he was alive made me physically ill.
“Where is he now?”
“A nonprofit residential school called Briar Glen.”
I looked up.
“School?”
“It’s licensed as both an educational and medical-care facility.”
“How far?”
“About six hours.”
My eyes dropped to Milo.
“And you’ve seen Elias?”
“Not in person.”
“But you have that photograph.”
“An investigator got it.”
Claire’s voice lowered.
“I’ve been trying to figure out how to approach him without making everything worse.”
“He thinks you’re dead?”
She shook her head.
“That’s one of the things I don’t know.”
The answer landed heavily.
“What was he told?”
“I don’t know that either.”
Claire looked toward the table.
“I don’t know what Julian told them about me. I don’t know whether Elias knows he has a mother. I don’t know what name they use for me, if any.”
Her composure cracked around the edges.
“I don’t even know if he would want me there.”
I understood then why she had not simply driven to Briar Glen the moment she found him.
Finding a living child was not the same as reclaiming eight lost years.
“What does your investigator say?”
“That we should move carefully.”
“And legally?”
Her eyes hardened.
“Legally, I was his mother the entire time.”
“Unless those signatures changed something.”
“They didn’t change biology.”
“No. But they may have changed custody.”
Claire nodded.
“That’s what my lawyer is trying to untangle.”
I glanced at the forged-looking signature.
“You said you were trying to prove who signed.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think it was Julian?”
“No.”
The answer came too fast for uncertainty.
“Margaret?”
Claire looked at me.
“That’s where the evidence points.”
Before I could ask more, my phone rang.
Julian.
We both stared at the screen.
“Answer it,” Claire said.
“You just told me not to.”
“Not the messages. This is different.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to hear what he thinks he knows.”
I hesitated.
Then I turned on speaker.
“Hello.”
Julian’s voice came low and controlled.
“Where is Claire?”
I looked at her.
She lifted one finger to her lips.
“I don’t know.”
“That isn’t true.”
“Then why ask?”
A pause.
“Maya, this has gone far enough.”
“What has?”
“You contacting my family.”
“Claire contacted me.”
He breathed out sharply.
“Put her on.”
“I said I don’t know where she is.”
“Maya.”
The single word carried a warning.
Something inside me steadied.
“You lied about having another son.”
Silence.
Claire shut her eyes.
“So that’s what she told you.”
“You told her he was dead.”
“Maya, you are involving yourself in something you do not understand.”
“Then explain it.”
“That situation has nothing to do with Milo.”
Claire’s eyes opened.
I held her gaze.
“Then why did you send me a legal agreement mentioning residential placement before Milo was three months old?”
Another pause.
“This is exactly why I didn’t want Claire dragging you into the past.”
“The past?”
“My family went through something very difficult.”
Claire’s hand tightened around the folder.
“Your family?”
Julian stopped.
He had heard her.
There was no point pretending anymore.
Claire leaned toward the phone.
“Hello, Julian.”
His tone changed.
“Claire.”
She sounded calm.
“Did you know where Elias was the entire time?”
The silence lasted long enough to answer.
“Claire, not like this.”
“Did you know?”
“This is not a conversation we’re having on speaker with her.”
“With her?”
“Yes.”
I nearly laughed.
Claire did not.
“Her name is Maya.”
“I know her name.”
“I’m sure you do.”
His breathing sharpened.
“Come home.”
“No.”
“Leo needs you.”
“Do not use Leo.”
“He asked where you were.”
“You could try telling him the truth for once.”
Julian’s voice hardened.
“Think very carefully.”
Claire looked almost relieved.
There it was.
The same phrase.
The same language he had used with me.
She whispered, “You always say that right before you threaten someone.”
“I’m not threatening you.”
“Then answer me. Did you know Elias was alive?”
“Claire—”
“Yes or no.”
Julian said nothing.
Claire reached over and ended the call.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then she sat down.
“He knew.”
I looked at her.
“You didn’t know that before?”
“I suspected.”
“That silence sounded like more than suspicion.”
“Yes.”
She pressed her palms together.
“I needed to hear him fail to deny it.”
Milo finished his bottle and relaxed against me.
I burped him carefully.
Claire stared at the floor.
“When Elias was born, Julian cried.”
The detail came unexpectedly.
“He cried before they took him for transfer. He held him. He kissed his forehead. He told me our son was beautiful.”
Her voice roughened.
“For years, that memory was one of the few good things I had left.”
I said nothing.
“I used to think whatever happened afterward, at least Elias had been loved for the short time he lived.”
She looked up.
“Now I don’t know what any of it meant.”
“You may never know what he felt.”
“That doesn’t matter as much as what he did.”
She was right.
My phone buzzed again.
Not a message.
A notification from the building intercom.
Someone had entered my code from the lobby.
I froze.
Claire stood.
“Are you expecting anyone?”
“No.”
The intercom rang.
I walked toward the panel but did not answer.
A second ring followed.
Then a knock sounded at my apartment door.
Hard.
Three strikes.
Milo startled.
I carried him toward the bedroom.
Claire stepped into the hallway between me and the front door.
“Who is it?” she called.
No answer.
Another knock.
I checked the peephole.
A man stood outside in a dark coat.
He was not Julian.
I had never seen him before.
He held a large envelope.
“Who are you?” I asked through the door.
“Courier.”
“At eight in the morning?”
“Delivery for Maya Collins.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Leave it.”
“I need a signature.”
“No.”
The man stood there another few seconds.
Then he bent and pushed the envelope beneath the door.
I waited until his footsteps disappeared down the hallway.
Claire did not touch it.
“What if it’s legal papers?” I asked.
“Then we photograph everything first.”
I took Milo into the bedroom and placed him safely in his crib.
When I returned, Claire had her phone camera ready.
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
Not legal stationery.
No letterhead.
No signature.
Only one printed sentence.
Briar Glen is not your concern.
I felt the blood leave my face.
Claire stared at the page.
“They know.”
“Julian?”
“Or Margaret.”
“How did they know you told me the name?”
“I didn’t say it on the call.”
We looked at each other.
The implication settled between us.
Either someone had access to Claire’s investigation.
Or someone had access to my apartment.
I thought about the envelope arriving less than an hour after she had said Briar Glen aloud.
My skin prickled.
“Could my phone be compromised?”
Claire glanced toward both our devices.
“Maybe.”
“Or yours.”
“Maybe.”
I looked at the apartment differently.
The smoke detector.
The lamp.
The television.
The vents.
Ridiculous possibilities multiplied because suddenly none felt ridiculous enough to dismiss.
Claire walked to the front door and locked the deadbolt again.
“We leave.”
“Where?”
“My lawyer’s office.”
“With Milo?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not taking him out because of an anonymous note.”
“You’re not taking him out because of a note.”
She looked directly at me.
“You’re taking him out because whoever sent that knew what we were discussing inside your home.”
I began packing Milo’s diaper bag.
Halfway through, my phone rang again.
This time it was my building manager.
“Ms. Collins?”
“Yes.”
“We had a strange request downstairs this morning.”
I stopped moving.
“What kind?”
“A man said he was your brother and asked whether we could let him into your apartment because you’d left medication inside.”
My mouth went dry.
“I don’t have a brother.”
“I thought so.”
“When?”
“About twenty minutes ago.”
“Was it the courier?”
“I don’t think so. This man was older.”
Claire stepped closer.
I put the call on speaker.
“Do you have security footage?”
“Yes.”
“Please don’t erase it.”
“I won’t.”
“Can you describe him?”
The manager hesitated.
“Probably mid-sixties. Gray hair. Expensive coat. Tall.”
Claire’s face changed.
“Did he have a scar near his left eyebrow?” she asked.
The manager paused.
“Yes, actually.”
Claire closed her eyes.
I stared at her.
“You know him.”
She opened them.
“That’s Daniel Kessler.”
“Who?”
“My mother-in-law’s private security chief.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: Margaret Sterling’s Security Chief Appeared at My Building, and Claire Finally Explained Why Her Family Treated Children Like Assets
The Man Who Only Belonged to Me on Weekdays Had One Rule I Never Thought to Question
Part 5 of 35
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