Chapter 3 - The Girl With My Mother's Eyes
I knew those eyes.
I had watched them soften over birthday cakes, harden when I lied about homework, and fill with tears the morning I left for college. Margaret Morgan's eyes were looking back at me from the face of a frightened young woman.
“My name is Claire,” I said.
Samuel Price stepped between us. “Don't speak to her.”
Anthony's guards blocked the elevator. “You're in my house, Samuel. Move.”
Samuel was older than I remembered, but his leather gloves were the same. He kept one hand close to Lily's elbow.
Lily jerked away. “You promised we were coming for my medical records.”
“We are,” Samuel replied.
“No,” Anthony said. “You came for the files Vanessa stole.”
Samuel's expression changed.
I approached Lily slowly. “Do you know Margaret Morgan?”
She shook her head.
“Have you ever seen this?” I held up the butterfly bracelet.
Lily stared. Her lips trembled.
“I dreamed about that,” she whispered.
Samuel seized her wrist. Daniel immediately pulled him away.
Lily backed against the wall. “When I was little, someone used to sing about a butterfly that couldn't fly home.”
I remembered the song. My mother had invented it when I was six.
I sang the first line.
Lily finished the second.
Anthony turned away, his face contorted with grief.
I wanted to embrace her. Instead I asked, “Who raised you?”
“Aunt Vanessa,” Lily said. “And Mr. Price.”
The word aunt made my stomach turn.
Lily explained that she had grown up in private schools under different surnames. Every time she asked about her parents, Vanessa said they had died protecting her. Two months earlier, Lily had discovered an old photograph of a nurse and a baby. Vanessa confiscated it and told her never to ask again.
Samuel suddenly spoke.
“You're all making a mistake. Lily is not who you think.”
Anthony stepped closer. “Then let her choose whether to stay.”
Lily looked between us.
“I want to know why she has my dream,” she said, pointing at me.
For the first time in eleven years, I felt my mother reaching through the silence.
Then Daniel's phone rang.
He listened, turned pale, and told Anthony, “The team reached Claire's apartment. The front door is open. Noah is missing.”
My world narrowed to one name.
May you like
“Noah.”
I ran for the elevator before anyone could stop me.
