Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN IN THE BIRTHDAY PHOTOGRAPHS
Olivia Carter had been Alexander's first love.
They met when he was nineteen.
She was beautiful, ambitious, and fascinated by the world he was entering.
For three years, they were inseparable.
Then she left Chicago to marry a wealthy investment banker.
Alexander never admitted how deeply the rejection wounded him.
When Olivia returned years later, divorced and financially unstable, he welcomed her back as a friend.
At least, that was what he told me.
I had met Olivia only six months after my wedding.
She arrived at our home wearing a white silk blouse and a smile that never reached her eyes.
“Emily,” she said, studying me. “You're even prettier than the photographs.”
I thanked her.
Then she turned toward Alexander.
“Still collecting beautiful things, Alex?”
He laughed.
I didn't.
Over the years, Olivia became a permanent presence.
At dinners.
At family gatherings.
At charity events.
She knew which wine Alexander preferred.
Which restaurants he liked.
Which songs reminded him of their youth.
She had a talent for making me feel like a guest in my own marriage.
I complained once.
Alexander told me I was insecure.
I never complained again.
After Grace died, I thought I would spend the rest of my life wondering whether Alexander had loved Olivia more.
But in Toronto, that question slowly became less important.
Whether he loved her was no longer the point.
He had chosen to prioritize her.
And Grace had paid a terrible price.
One evening, Margaret called.
“The police obtained the birthday venue's surveillance footage.”
I sat down.
“What did it show?”
“Alexander remained at the venue throughout the afternoon.”
“I know.”
“But investigators are interested in Olivia's movements.”
My pulse quickened.
“Why?”
“She left the private dining room for approximately twelve minutes.”
I stared.
“When?”
“Shortly before the preschool received the call.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did she make it?”
“We don't know yet.”
Margaret continued.
“The call originated from a mobile number that wasn't registered to Olivia. Investigators are tracing it.”
I looked at Grace's photograph.
She was smiling in her yellow raincoat.
Missing one front tooth.
Holding a purple balloon.
I whispered, “Please tell me they're being careful.”
“They are.”
The following morning, I received an email from an unfamiliar address.
No subject.
No signature.
Only one sentence.
Your daughter wasn't supposed to leave the school.
My hands went cold.
Beneath it was a photograph.
A black luxury SUV parked across from Grace's preschool.
The image was grainy.
But the license plate was visible.
I immediately forwarded everything to Margaret and the police.
Then I sat motionless.
For weeks, I had believed Grace's death was the result of Alexander's neglect and a tragic failure of supervision.
Now someone was suggesting there had been a plan.
A plan that had gone wrong.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered cautiously.
“Hello?”
A woman's voice whispered:
“Mrs. Hayes?”
“Yes.”
“I'm sorry about your daughter.”
“Who is this?”
A pause.
Then:
“I worked at the hotel where Olivia had her birthday.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“What do you know?”
The woman began crying.
“I heard something I wasn't supposed to hear.”
I gripped the phone.
“What?”
She swallowed.
“Olivia said the little girl would be fine.”
I stopped breathing.
May you like
Then she whispered:
“She said she only needed Alexander to miss one pickup.”
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