Chapter 11 - THE SISTER WHO NEVER STOPPED SINGING
Isabella Vale had been missing for six years.
But somewhere inside Hawthorne Wellness Institute, she was alive.
I knew it now.
Not because Dr. Moore had told us.
Not because the records suggested it.
But because my mother had spent her final years trying to find her.
And I wasn't going to let her work disappear with her.
Dominic stood beside the piano in the west wing.
His expression was dark.
“I should have found Isabella sooner.”
I shook my head.
“You didn't know where she was.”
“I had resources.”
“You also had people lying to you.”
He looked at me.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then I asked:
“Why did you stop allowing music in this house?”
His expression changed.
He looked toward the piano.
“After Isabella disappeared, I couldn't bear hearing anything she used to play.”
My heart tightened.
“So you made the house silent.”
He nodded.
“I thought silence would make it easier.”
“Did it?”
He looked away.
“No.”
I sat at the piano.
“Then maybe it's time to change that.”
Dominic watched me.
I began playing my mother's song.
Softly.
Carefully.
The notes filled the room.
And for the first time, Dominic didn't look away.
He sat beside me.
His eyes were wet.
“She used to play this every morning.”
I smiled sadly.
“My mother too.”
Then Marcus entered.
“Boss, we have an update.”
Dominic stood.
“What?”
“Investigators obtained a search warrant for Hawthorne.”
My heart raced.
“When?”
“Tonight.”
I pressed a hand against my chest.
Isabella.
My father.
Answers that had been buried for decades.
All of it might finally come to light.
Later that evening, police entered the facility.
They secured the main building.
Reviewed patient records.
And began interviewing staff.
I waited with Dominic at a nearby command center.
Marcus stood beside us.
For once, nobody made jokes.
Nobody spoke unnecessarily.
We simply waited.
Then the radio crackled.
“Patient 214 located.”
Dominic stood so quickly his chair nearly fell.
“Is she alive?”
A pause.
Then:
“Female patient, approximately thirty-two years old. Conscious.”
Dominic covered his mouth.
I began crying.
But the officer continued.
“She is asking for someone.”
My heart tightened.
“Who?”
A pause.
Then:
“Rachel Bennett.”
I stared at Dominic.
He nodded.
When authorities confirmed it was safe, I was escorted to a private room.
Inside sat a woman with dark curls and green eyes.
She looked older than in the photographs.
Tired.
Frightened.
But alive.
She looked up.
“Rachel?”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Evelyn's daughter.”
I nodded.
She smiled weakly.
“You have her voice.”
Then she reached for my hand.
“I've been waiting for you.”
My tears fell.
“Why?”
Isabella's expression changed.
“Because your mother left me something.”
She opened her palm.
A tiny gold key rested inside.
I stared.
“What does it open?”
May you like
Her voice trembled.
“The room where they kept your father.”
