Chapter 4 - My Father's SignatureI held the phone so tightly my fingers hurt.
“Tell me.”
Alexander remained silent.
“Now.”
He looked toward Rebecca, who had just returned with coffee.
She saw the photograph.
Her expression changed.
“Where did you get that?”
“Someone texted it to me.”
Rebecca immediately reached for her phone.
Alexander stopped her.
“Wait.”
He turned to me.
“You deserve the truth from me first.”
My stomach twisted.
“What did you sign?”
Alexander sat slowly.
“Your grandfather came to me four days after you were born.”
I stared at him.
“He told me Elena had left.”
“But she hadn't.”
“No.”
Alexander’s voice was thick with shame.
“He said she wanted money and anonymity. He produced a legal agreement stating that Elena had voluntarily surrendered custody and wanted you placed privately.”
I felt sick.
“You signed it.”
“Yes.”
The word hit like a slap.
“Why?”
“I was thirty years old. Arrogant. Angry. Humiliated. I believed she had taken money and disappeared.”
“So you gave me away?”
“I signed authorization for what I believed was temporary private guardianship.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You believed.”
“I know.”
“You didn't check?”
“I tried to reach Elena. My father said she'd left the country.”
“And that was enough?”
“No.”
His voice cracked.
“It shouldn't have been.”
I looked down at my belly.
My child moved beneath my hand.
I imagined signing something that gave my baby to strangers.
Impossible.
“How could you?”
Alexander had no defense.
“I was a coward.”
For the first time, anger replaced my shock.
“Get out.”
Rebecca stepped forward.
“Clara—”
“Both of you.”
Alexander stood immediately.
“Of course.”
He walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he stopped.
“I'll be outside if you need anything.”
“I won't.”
He nodded.
Then left.
I spent the next hour reading Elena’s letters.
Some were desperate.
Some angry.
Some hopeful.
All loved me.
At 4:17 p.m., another text arrived.
HE DIDN'T TELL YOU EVERYTHING.
I stared.
Who are you?
The reply came instantly.
Someone who knew your mother.
My pulse raced.
Is she alive?
No answer.
I typed again.
IS ELENA ALIVE?
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then returned.
Finally:
Meet me alone and I'll tell you.
A location followed.
Union Station.
8:00 p.m.
I knew it was dangerous.
I also knew I was going.
At seven thirty, I signed discharge papers against medical advice.
Alexander’s security team was waiting outside my room.
“I need air,” I said.
One guard stepped forward.
“Ms. Vance—”
“Sterling.”
He corrected himself.
“Mrs. Sterling, Mr. Vance asked us—”
“I'm not a prisoner.”
They hesitated.
That gave me enough time.
I took the staff elevator, crossed through radiology, and exited through a side entrance.
Twenty-five minutes later, I entered Union Station wearing a borrowed hospital cardigan over my maternity dress.
Crowds rushed around me.
I followed the instructions to Platform 11.
A woman sat on a bench.
Late sixties.
Gray hair.
Red scarf.
She stood when she saw me.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh my God.”
I stopped.
She covered her mouth.
“You look exactly like Elena.”
My heart slammed.
“You knew her?”
“My name is Teresa Morales.”
Morales.
I stared.
“Her sister.”
My knees weakened.
“You're my aunt?”
Teresa nodded, crying.
I wanted to hug her.
Instead I stepped back.
“Why didn't you find me?”
Pain crossed her face.
“I tried.”
Everyone said that.
I was tired of hearing it.
“You all tried. Somehow I still spent eighteen years moving through thirteen foster homes.”
Teresa flinched.
“I deserve that.”
“Is my mother alive?”
She looked around.
Fear replaced grief.
“We shouldn't talk here.”
“You asked me here.”
“I didn't expect you to come without protection.”
My skin prickled.
“Why?”
Teresa grabbed my wrist.
“Because Richard knows.”
I froze.
“Richard?”
“He contacted me six months ago.”
The station seemed to tilt.
“Why?”
“He was looking for information about your family.”
Richard had told me he'd checked my background before marriage.
But six months ago?
That was recent.
Teresa pulled me toward a quieter corner.
“He offered me money to sign a statement saying Elena was unstable and abandoned you willingly.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“He threatened me.”
My hands went cold.
“What does this have to do with my mother?”
Teresa’s eyes filled.
“Elena found you once.”
I stopped breathing.
“When?”
“You were eleven.”
My entire childhood flashed through my head.
At eleven, I'd lived with the Bensons.
A temporary foster home in Maryland.
I remembered a woman standing outside my school.
Brown hair.
Watching me.
My foster mother had pulled me away.
“Don't talk to strangers.”
I had forgotten her face.
Until now.
“Oh my God.”
“Elena tried to approach you,” Teresa whispered. “But your grandfather’s investigator found her first.”
“What happened?”
“She disappeared again.”
My voice shook.
“And nobody called the police?”
“We did. They said there wasn't enough evidence.”
I pressed both hands against my belly.
“Is she alive?”
Teresa cried.
“I don't know.”
The answer broke something inside me.
Then I noticed a man standing thirty feet away.
Black jacket.
Phone raised.
Watching us.
“Teresa.”
She saw him.
Her face drained.
“Go.”
“What?”
“Go now.”
The man started walking toward us.
Teresa shoved a small key into my hand.
“Locker 318.”
“What is this?”
“Everything Elena saved.”
The man accelerated.
I grabbed Teresa.
“Come with me.”
“No.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
A second man appeared from the opposite side.
Teresa whispered, “They're not here for me.”
I looked down at my stomach.
Fear exploded.
We ran.
Or I tried to.
At eight months pregnant, running felt impossible.
People shouted as we pushed through the crowd.
The first man reached inside his coat.
Teresa screamed.
Then someone slammed him sideways.
Alexander’s bodyguard.
Two more security agents swarmed the second man.
I spun.
Alexander came striding across the platform, fury blazing in his eyes.
He reached me.
“Are you hurt?”
I was too shocked to answer.
“How did you find me?”
“You're carrying the emergency phone Rebecca gave you.”
I looked at the small device in my purse.
I had forgotten.
Teresa stared at him.
“Alexander.”
He froze.
“Teresa?”
They looked at each other like ghosts.
Then the first attacker shouted while struggling with the guards.
“Sterling will kill all of you!”
The entire platform went silent.
I stared at him.
Richard.
Alexander’s expression became deadly.
Rebecca arrived seconds later with transit police.
Teresa grabbed my hand.
“Locker 318.”
We walked to the storage lockers together.
The key shook in my fingers.
Inside was a weathered leather bag.
Letters.
Photographs.
Medical records.
And a cassette recorder.
On top sat a sealed envelope.
Written across it:
FOR CLARA — IF I FAIL AGAIN.
I opened it.
May you like
One sentence was written inside.
Richard Sterling knows where your mother is.
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