Chapter 4: The Woman Named Elizabeth Carter
I read the name on the photograph until the letters blurred.
Elizabeth Carter.
For twenty-five years, I had believed Robert and I had only one child. Marcus had been our miracle after years of fertility treatments, and although I had once dreamed of raising a daughter, I had eventually accepted that our family was complete.
Now a dead woman's name threatened to unravel everything.
"Mom?"" Marcus said through the phone.
"Are you still there?""
"Yes.""
"What does it mean? Who is Elizabeth Carter?""
I looked at Helen, who stood beside me with one hand pressed against her mouth.
"I don't know," I whispered.
It was the first time in my life that I had said those words and felt genuinely terrified of the answer.
Twenty minutes later, I arrived at Ava's apartment with Helen beside me. The apartment building stood on a quiet residential street, its brick walls darkened by last night's rain.
Marcus opened the door before I could knock.
He looked exhausted.
"Dad has called me six times," he said.
"He wants me to bring Ava home so he can explain everything.""
"Has he spoken to her?""
"No. He told me to keep her away from him until he gets there.""
I stopped in the doorway.
"Your father said that?""
Marcus nodded.
"Then he knows something.""
Inside, Ava sat on the couch beside an older man with silver hair and tired eyes. An open cardboard box rested on the coffee table. Inside were photographs, medical records, birthday cards, and a small stuffed rabbit with one missing eye.
Ava stood when she saw me.
"Claire, thank you for coming.""
She looked frightened, and I wanted to take her into my arms. But I had no right to assume that she wanted comfort from a woman she had met only yesterday.
Instead, I sat opposite her.
"Would you show me the photograph?""
Ava handed it to me.
The picture showed a young woman sitting in a hospital bed, holding a newborn wrapped in a yellow blanket. The woman's face was pale with exhaustion, but her smile was radiant.
She had dark hair, a narrow chin, and a small beauty mark beneath her right eye.
I had seen that face before.
Not in photographs.
In the mirror.
My hand began to shake.
Helen leaned closer.
"Claire?""
I turned the photograph over again.
Elizabeth Carter.
The handwriting was delicate, slanting slightly to the right.
Beneath the name was a sentence.
If anything happens to me, find Claire Carter. She is the only person who can tell you why you were taken.
"Mr. Bennett," I said, turning toward Ava's adoptive father, "where did you get these papers?""
He cleared his throat.
"My wife, Susan, adopted Ava through a private agency in Ohio. Everything appeared legitimate. The agency provided the records, and Susan was told the birth mother had died shortly after delivery.""
"What was the birth mother's name?""
"Elizabeth Carter.""
"Did you ever meet her?""
"No.""
"Did you meet Robert Carter?""
The older man's face changed.
Ava turned sharply toward him.
"Dad?""
He looked at his daughter, then at me.
"I met him once," he admitted.
"About six months after we brought Ava home.""
My heart pounded.
"What did he want?""
"He said there had been an administrative error involving Ava's placement. He offered us money to sign a confidentiality agreement.""
Ava stood abruptly.
"He tried to buy my silence?""
"Not yours," her father said.
"Ours. You were a baby.""
"How much money?""
"Fifty thousand dollars.""
Marcus let out a disbelieving laugh.
"And you took it?""
Mr. Bennett's face reddened.
"I was thirty-eight. My wife had spent years trying to become a mother. We were drowning in medical bills, and we thought everything was legal. Robert told us the agreement was routine.""
"Did you sign it?"" I asked.
"Yes.""
Ava turned away, wiping her eyes.
Mr. Bennett reached toward her, but she stepped out of his reach.
"Why didn't you tell me?""
"Because Susan was afraid," he said.
"She believed Robert had powerful connections. After she died, I promised myself I would never let anyone frighten you into thinking you weren't wanted.""
Ava's voice cracked.
"Then why didn't you tell me the truth?""
"Because I didn't know the truth.""
The room fell silent.
I looked again at the photograph of Elizabeth.
Her eyes were familiar. So was the shape of her smile.
I had seen that smile on my own mother's face.
"Did you ever hear of a woman named Margaret Carter?"" I asked.
Mr. Bennett shook his head.
But Helen had gone completely still.
"Claire," she said slowly, "your mother had a younger sister named Elizabeth.""
The room seemed to tilt.
My mother had rarely spoken about her sister. I'd been told Elizabeth had died in a car accident when I was a teenager, although I couldn't remember attending a funeral. My father had died when I was young, and after my mother passed away, most of the family's old photographs had disappeared during a house move.
I had never questioned the story.
Until now.
"My mother told me Elizabeth was dead," I whispered.
Helen shook her head.
"She told me the same thing. But I remember Elizabeth. She was alive when we were children.""
Ava stared at us.
"Are you saying my birth mother was your aunt?""
"I think so.""
"But why would she leave me at a hospital?""
"I don't know.""
"Why would your husband know her?""
I had no answer.
Then Mr. Bennett reached into the box and removed a folded sheet of paper.
"There was one other thing Susan told me before she died," he said.
"She said Elizabeth had been trying to escape a dangerous relationship. She believed someone was following her.""
"Who?"" Marcus asked.
Mr. Bennett shook his head.
"Susan never knew. But Elizabeth asked her to protect Ava if anything happened.""
Ava sat down slowly.
"My mother knew Susan?""
"They met through the adoption agency. Susan told me Elizabeth was desperate to find a safe family for you.""
The words struck me harder than any accusation.
Ava hadn't been discarded.
Her birth mother had tried to protect her.
And my husband had apparently paid another family to keep the truth hidden.
My phone vibrated.
A message from Robert appeared on the screen.
*I know where you are. Bring Ava home immediately. Do not discuss Elizabeth with anyone.*
I showed it to Helen.
She read it, then looked at me.
"He knows you're there.""
Before I could respond, another message appeared.
This one contained a photograph.
It showed a young Elizabeth standing outside a brick building, holding a newborn in her arms.
Behind her stood Robert.
He was younger, but unmistakable.
His hand rested on Elizabeth's shoulder.
On the back of the photograph, visible in the image Robert had sent, was a handwritten date.
The day Ava had been born.
And a sentence beneath it:
*You promised me she would never find out who her father was.*
I looked at Ava.
Then at the photograph.
For the first time, I understood that the mystery wasn't simply about who had taken her away.
May you like
It was about who had fathered her.
And why Robert had been willing to pay to make sure she never learned his name.
