“… only Anna. The other one sent me a simpering message about not being able to come.” She laughed. “I trained them well, I tell you. They’re so eager to please, they’d set themselves on fire to keep me warm.”
I heard her speaking in the kitchen.
A pause. Just long enough for me to stop myself from screaming. Then more laughter.
“Oh God,” she gasped. “I still can’t believe that not once in 15 years did those two fools suspect a thing. I keep thinking — how are they this naïve? And I fooled their pathetic mom as well. She has no idea that—”
She stopped suddenly and scanned the room. I quickly ducked back into the hallway.
“… that she’s been screaming into a void for 15 years,” Jean finished. “I made sure none of them even saw those letters.”
Letters? Our mother had sent us letters?
Not once in 15 years did those two fools suspect a thing.
“She just had to be difficult,” Jean said with a sigh. “It was easy enough to convince her that Richard planned to leave her homeless and strip her parental rights in a divorce. Richard mentioned at work once that she had a history of depression, and I told her he planned to get her committed.”
I covered my mouth with one hand. Did that mean what I thought it meant? Had Jean orchestrated my mom’s disappearance?
“Those text messages you helped me fake were very convincing. She ran, just as I knew she would, but the letters started a year later.”
I wanted to throw up.
But more importantly, I had to find those letters!
Had Jean orchestrated my mom’s disappearance?
“Honey, I have to go,” Jean said suddenly. “Yes, Mother’s Day with my devoted daughter. Pray for me.”
I looked down at the flowers in my hand. Then I looked up at the kitchen doorway, where Jean’s shadow moved across the floor, humming to herself.
And I realized, very calmly, that today was not going to be the Mother’s Day she expected.
My legs almost buckled, but I forced them to move.
Today was not going to be the Mother’s Day she expected.
I stepped into the kitchen with the brightest smile I could fake.
“Happy Mother’s Day, Jean!”
She spun around, startled. For half a second, her face flickered, then snapped back into warmth.
“Oh, sweetheart! I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Door was unlocked. I brought your favorites. From Lily and me.”
She took the bouquet from my hands.
“Where is Lily? She should be here.”
I stepped into the kitchen.
“She has a double shift and couldn’t make it. She sent her love and said she’ll make it up to you.”
“Hmm… alright. Sit, sit. Your father will be back soon, and the quiche is almost ready.”
“Actually, can I use the bathroom first?”
“Go ahead, honey. You know where it is.”
I walked down the hallway slowly, like nothing inside me was breaking. I passed the bathroom. I kept going.
Years ago, Jean had declared the hall closet off-limits. She’d said she was keeping her personal things there, but I suspected that was where I’d find Mom’s letters.
“Actually, can I use the bathroom first?”
I eased the hall closet door open.
It was full of Jean’s things — last season’s designer coats and bags, mostly.
Right at the bottom, three stacked shoeboxes caught my attention.
My heart hammered as I kneeled.
I lifted the lid off the first box.
It was full of letters addressed to Lily and me.
I eased the hall closet door open.
I picked one up. It was still sealed and postmarked 12 years ago.
Another. Sealed.
Another, but this one was open. It was a birthday card.
Happy birthday, my beautiful girls! I hope to see you again soon.
Love, Mom.
A small sound escaped my throat before I could stop it.
“Anna? Honey, are you okay back there?” Jean called out.
It was a birthday card.
“Yeah! Just a second!”
I dug faster. The dates climbed up through the years.
Then I saw it — an envelope at the top, the postmark fresh.
Nine days ago.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
“Anna?”
Jean’s footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Nine days ago.
I shoved letters into my purse, into my jacket, into my waistband, anywhere they’d fit.
“Anna, what are you—”
Jean stopped in the closet doorway.
Her face went through three expressions in one second. Confusion. Recognition. Then something colder than I’d ever seen.
“Put those back right now, or I’ll make sure your father never speaks to you and your sister ever again.”
I shoved letters into my purse.
All my childhood fears crashed down on me.
I stared at her, speechless, knowing full well that was no idle threat, and that if anyone could pull it off, it was her.
“I’m serious.” She stepped closer, voice dropping low. “Your father will be home any minute. Put those back, sit down and eat your quiche, and we’ll never speak of this again. This is the only chance I’m going to give you, Anna.”
The front door clicked open then.
Jean sighed. “Looks like your time just ran out.”
That was no idle threat.
I panicked.
“Dad! Please come here, you need to see—”
I broke off as Jean’s hand shot out and gripped my wrist. Hard.
“Anna?” Dad called out, his footsteps hurrying down the hall.
“Last chance,” Jean snarled. “Smile, Anna, or I swear to God I’ll have you out of this family by sundown.”
I looked down at her fingers, then up at her eyes, and I realized something: Jean was scared.
“Smile, Anna, or I swear to God I’ll have you out of this family by sundown.”
Dad stepped up behind Jean and stared at us both.
“Anna, what’s going on? These are Jean’s personal things,” he said.
“Thank God you’re here!” Jean turned and clung to my father. “Anna’s lost it! She started tearing through my things, making wild accusations—”
“I haven’t lost it!” I held up a handful of envelopes. “Dad. Look at the handwriting. These are letters from Mom. Jean has been hiding them all these years.”
“Anna’s lost it!”
His face went pale. “That’s Elena’s handwriting.”
“There are dozens, Dad. All sealed. All addressed to Lily and me.”
“I can explain—”
Dad turned to Jean. “She disappeared without a word, without a note… but you’ve been hiding letters from her all this time?”
“This one is from last week.” I held up the most recent letter. “Jean manipulated Mom. She convinced Mom that you wanted a divorce and were planning to ruin her and have her committed because of her mental health. I heard her on the phone, Dad. Bragging about it.”
“That’s Elena’s handwriting.”
Dad’s face went stony.
“See? I told you she’d lost it,” Jean said. “Yes, I kept the letters. I thought I was doing the right thing. But all this nonsense about me conniving to chase Elena away? It’s the rambling of a mad person!”
Dad shook his head. “I never told the girls about Elena’s struggle with depression.”
Jean paled.
“The only person I ever mentioned that to was you, back when we were working together, before Elena left. Oh my God, it’s all true, isn’t it?” Dad glared at Jean with tears in his eyes. “Get out of my house, Jean.”
“It’s the rambling of a mad person!”
Jean took a step back. She glanced between Dad and me, and seemed to realize that she’d lost.
“Fine, I’ll leave,” she snapped. “But you’ll regret this. All of you! I’m the best thing that ever happened to this family.”
She spun on her heel and stormed away.
Dad sank onto the floor beside me. He took the most recent letter from me with shaking fingers and turned it over.
“The return address is two towns over.” He looked at me. “Let’s get Lily and go. Now.”
She’d lost.
We drove to the store where Lily worked. After some convincing, her manager allowed her to leave early.
We drove in silence and eventually pulled up outside a small house with a neat garden.
I knocked on the front door. The woman who answered it looked like me and Lily, just older. She stared at us in shock for a moment, then burst into tears.
“My girls! Is that really you?”
I pulled her into a hug. “It’s really us, Mom.”
And for the first time in 15 years, I felt chosen.
I knocked on the front door.
