Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN WHO BURIED HER DAUGHTER
The following morning, I returned to my bakery.
For the first time since Adrian brought me to his estate, I needed to stand somewhere that belonged to me.
The shop was cold.
The display case was empty.
Overdue notices lay beneath the cash register.
The smell of flour and cinnamon lingered faintly in the walls.
I had opened Grace & Flour four years earlier with my grandmother's savings and a loan I had worked desperately to repay.
Before losing my daughter, I planned to turn it into a neighborhood gathering place.
After Grace died, I stopped caring whether it survived.
Now I walked behind the counter and touched the wooden surface.
My grandmother used to say that bread was a promise.
You mixed ordinary ingredients.
Waited.
Trusted something invisible to happen.
And sometimes, if you were patient, something beautiful rose.
I hadn't believed in beautiful things for weeks.
My assistant, Ruby Chen, arrived carrying two coffees.
Ruby was twenty-four, opinionated, and the only employee I hadn't been able to convince to find another job.
She took one look at me and began crying.
"Hannah."
I hugged her.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Then she stepped back.
"Are you eating?"
"Sometimes."
"Sleeping?"
"Not enough."
"Still pretending you don't need anybody?"
I smiled sadly.
"Probably."
Ruby placed a coffee in my hand.
"I found something."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"Remember the woman who came in before Grace was born? The one who paid for two hundred Christmas cookies?"
I frowned.
We had received several large orders that month.
"Which woman?"
"Beautiful. Pregnant. Dark hair. She wore a scarf even though it was warm."
I went completely still.
"Did she give a name?"
"Isabel."
My coffee cup slipped slightly in my hand.
Ruby continued.
"She asked about you. Said she remembered your grandmother."
I stared at her.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I did. You were at your prenatal appointment. I left the order form in your office."
I rushed toward the back room.
A stack of receipts lay beneath a calendar.
I searched through them until I found the order.
Two hundred sugar cookies.
Paid in full.
Customer name:
Isabel Vale.
Beneath it was an additional note.
Delivery for Saint Catherine's Family Center.
I recognized the name.
Saint Catherine's was a nonprofit serving mothers and newborns facing housing insecurity.
I had volunteered there before opening the bakery.
In fact, it was where I had first met a young social worker named Leah Moreno.
Leah had helped me during my pregnancy.
She had visited after Grace's funeral.
And she had been the person who delivered the mysterious sympathy card.
I reached for my phone.
Leah answered on the fourth ring.
"Hannah?"
"Did you know Isabel Vale?"
Silence.
Then Leah whispered, "Where are you?"
"At the bakery."
"Are you alone?"
"No. Ruby's here."
"Hannah, don't discuss this on the phone."
My pulse quickened.
"Why?"
"Because I think someone has been watching the center."
I looked toward the front windows.
A black car was parked across the street.
It wasn't one of Adrian's usual vehicles.
"Leah, what happened?"
She took a shaky breath.
"Isabel was investigating something involving private maternal-health programs. She came to Saint Catherine's because several families said their records had been changed."
"What kind of changes?"
"Birth records. Insurance information. Transfer authorizations."
My throat tightened.
"Why did she ask about me?"
Leah was quiet.
Then she said, "Because you were one of the mothers."
I felt the room tilt.
"What?"
"Hannah, I didn't know how to tell you."
"Tell me what?"
A long pause.
Then Leah whispered, "Grace's hospital file was one of the records Isabel asked us to preserve."
I gripped the counter.
"My daughter?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Leah began crying.
"Because someone had entered information into her chart that didn't match what the doctors told you."
An hour later, I stood outside the cemetery where Grace was buried.
I had driven there without remembering most of the journey.
The winter grass was stiff beneath my shoes.
I knelt beside her small grave.
GRACE ELEANOR BROOKS.
Seventeen hours.
A lifetime of love.
I rested my hand against the stone.
"Sweetheart," I whispered, "I don't know what's happening."
My voice broke.
"I thought I had already lost everything."
I closed my eyes.
Images returned.
Grace's tiny face.
The warmth of her skin.
The nurse who had placed her in my arms.
The doctor who had said there was nothing more they could do.
Had someone altered her records?
Had someone hidden something about her care?
I couldn't allow myself to leap to conclusions.
But I needed the truth.
Behind me, footsteps approached.
I turned.
Adrian stood several feet away, holding a small bouquet of white flowers.
He didn't speak.
He simply waited.
For the first time, I was grateful he understood silence.
After a while, I whispered, "They may have lied about my daughter."
His expression changed.
"Who?"
"I don't know."
He knelt beside me.
"Then we'll find out."
I looked at him.
"You can't fix this with money or threats."
"I know."
"Promise me you won't hurt someone because you're angry."
Adrian looked toward Grace's stone.
For several seconds, he was silent.
Then he said, "I promise I'll help you find the truth without becoming another reason a child loses a parent."
May you like
I began crying.
And Adrian Vale, the man people crossed streets to avoid, sat beside me in the freezing cemetery until I was ready to stand.
