Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN WHO REMEMBERED MY VOICE
Isabella Vale had been asking for me.
A woman I'd never met.
A woman who disappeared six years earlier.
A woman whose final recording contained a song written by my mother.
I sat inside Dominic's music room, staring at Dr. Moore's contact information.
“Why would she know my name?”
Dominic stood near the piano.
“I don't know.”
“But you think she could be your sister?”
“Yes.”
I looked at the photographs around us.
Isabella at graduation.
Isabella playing piano.
Isabella laughing beside Dominic.
He had spent six years grieving someone who might still be alive.
“How old was she when she disappeared?”
“Twenty-six.”
I swallowed.
“And you?”
“Thirty-two.”
I studied his face.
He looked tired.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
The exhaustion of a man who had spent years holding a family together while pretending nothing could hurt him.
“Did you look for her?”
His expression changed.
“Every day.”
I nodded.
“I believe you.”
For a moment, the room was quiet.
Then I noticed a sheet of music on the piano.
The same melody.
My mother's song.
But the final page was missing.
“Dominic?”
He turned.
“What?”
“Where did Isabella get this?”
He looked at the sheet music.
“My mother gave it to her.”
My heart tightened.
“Your mother knew Evelyn Bennett?”
“Apparently.”
I stepped closer.
“Then maybe the music wasn't just a message.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe it was a way to identify someone.”
I sat at the piano.
My fingers hovered above the keys.
I hadn't played in years.
Not since Mom died.
But I remembered the melody.
One note.
Then another.
The room filled with soft music.
Dominic remained completely still.
I played the first verse.
Then the chorus.
Then the seven-note pattern.
Suddenly, a strange sound came from the wall.
A mechanical click.
I stopped playing.
Dominic turned sharply.
“What was that?”
We looked toward the fireplace.
A small section of wood paneling had shifted.
Marcus appeared in the doorway.
“Boss?”
Dominic approached the wall.
Behind the loosened panel was a narrow compartment.
Inside lay a leather-bound journal.
And a sealed envelope.
The journal belonged to Isabella.
Dominic opened it carefully.
Her handwriting filled the pages.
Dates.
Names.
Notes about Hawthorne.
And one sentence repeated several times.
The children were never supposed to be separated.
I stared.
“What children?”
Dominic turned the page.
A photograph slipped out.
It showed three babies lying in a hospital nursery.
Two girls.
One boy.
The date matched the year I was born.
My hands began shaking.
Dominic stared at the photograph.
Then at the names written beneath it.
Rachel.
Isabella.
And Adrian.
He swallowed.
“That's impossible.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
May you like
His voice broke.
“Rachel, Isabella wasn't looking for your father. She was looking for the children he lost.”
