Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN IN MY HOUSE
I stared at the message until the words blurred.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE ONESIE ALONE.
Then I read the second one.
NOW YOU'RE PART OF THE STORY TOO.
My fingers went numb.
Detective Reed noticed my expression.
“What is it?”
I handed him my phone.
He read the messages without saying anything.
Then he looked at his partner.
“Can you trace it?”
“We'll try.”
I couldn't stop thinking about the photograph Ellie had shown us.
The blue door.
The brass number.
The flowerpot.
My house.
Someone had been inside.
Someone connected to the people who had hurt Mason.
Someone who knew exactly where I lived.
And worse—
Someone knew what I had done with the onesie.
“Detective,” I whispered, “I need to go home.”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
“You're staying here.”
“But my house—”
“Is now a crime scene.”
My stomach dropped.
“You think they broke in?”
“We're going to find out.”
An officer was already making arrangements to secure the property.
Thomas stood silently against the wall.
He looked destroyed.
I turned toward him.
“Did you know they had been inside my house?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“Don't lie to me.”
“I swear.”
“You swore before.”
He lowered his eyes.
I wanted to hate him.
Part of me did.
But another part still saw the little boy who used to hold my hand crossing the street.
That was the cruelest thing about betrayal.
The person who hurt you was often the same person whose childhood you remembered most clearly.
Ellie suddenly spoke.
“There is something you need to know.”
We all looked at her.
She swallowed.
“The people who took my father knew about Helen before Mason was born.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“They knew your name.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Thomas suddenly looked up.
“Wait.”
“What?”
He walked toward Ellie.
“What did they say about Mom?”
Ellie shook her head.
“They said she would eventually find out.”
My skin prickled.
“Find out what?”
Neither answered.
“Thomas.”
He looked at me.
“I don't know.”
“You do.”
“No.”
“You've been hiding things from me for months.”
He took a shaky breath.
“There was one thing.”
“What?”
“Before Mason was born, Richard asked me whether you had ever worked in medical research.”
I stared at him.
“I've never worked in medical research.”
“I told him that.”
“What did he say?”
Thomas swallowed.
“He said, ‘That's not what our records show.’”
My heart began pounding.
“What records?”
“I don't know.”
Detective Reed stepped closer.
“Mrs. Russell, did you ever participate in a medical study?”
“No.”
“Donate tissue?”
“No.”
“Volunteer at a hospital?”
“Not since I was in my twenties.”
“Where?”
I hesitated.
“St. Catherine's.”
The detective's expression changed.
“When?”
“Thirty-nine years ago.”
He looked at his partner.
“Get that database.”
My heart raced.
“What does my life thirty-nine years ago have to do with Mason?”
“I don't know yet.”
Then an officer rushed into the room.
“Detective Reed.”
“What?”
“We have a problem.”
He handed him a phone.
“The house alarm was triggered.”
“When?”
“Seven minutes ago.”
My stomach dropped.
“But the house is empty.”
The officer nodded.
“Exactly.”
Detective Reed looked at me.
“Someone just entered your home.”
We arrived twenty minutes later.
Police surrounded the property.
My house looked exactly as I had left it.
White siding.
Small porch.
The flowerpot beside the door.
Everything normal.
Too normal.
Detective Reed stopped me before I could enter.
“Stay behind me.”
I nodded.
We walked through the front door.
Nothing was overturned.
Nothing appeared stolen.
The television was untouched.
The kitchen looked normal.
My bedroom looked normal.
Then I noticed the nursery.
I hadn't used that room in years.
It had become a storage room.
The door was open.
I knew I had closed it.
Detective Reed entered first.
A cardboard box lay on the floor.
Its contents were scattered everywhere.
Old photographs.
Medical documents.
Baby records.
I froze.
“That's impossible.”
“What?”
“I haven't opened that box in years.”
Detective Reed picked up a photograph.
It was me.
Twenty-five years old.
Standing outside St. Catherine's Hospital.
Beside me was a young woman.
I stared at her.
I knew that face.
I hadn't seen it in decades.
But I remembered.
“Who is she?” the detective asked.
My throat tightened.
“Dr. Vanessa Hale.”
The same woman who had delivered Mason.
The same woman who had supposedly been investigating him.
I stepped backward.
“No.”
Detective Reed looked at me.
“You knew her?”
“Not like this.”
“How?”
“She was a medical resident when I was pregnant with Thomas.”
Silence.
I picked up another photograph.
It showed me holding baby Thomas.
Vanessa stood behind me.
And in the corner of the photograph was a handwritten note.
SUBJECT A — MALE INFANT.
My hands began shaking.
“Why would she call my son a subject?”
Detective Reed didn't answer.
Then he found something beneath the photographs.
A sealed envelope.
My name was written across it.
Not my maiden name.
My married name.
The name I had used for the past thirty-five years.
Helen Russell.
But the envelope looked old.
Very old.
Detective Reed opened it.
Inside was a single document.
He read it.
Then looked at me.
“Mrs. Russell…”
“What?”
“This isn't about Mason.”
“What do you mean?”
May you like
He held up the paper.
“This started with Thomas.”
