Chapter 3 - THE CHILD HELEN LEFT BEHIND
Anna Reed arrived at Riverside Children’s Hospital at seven the next morning.
Richard recognized something familiar before she even introduced herself.
Not her face.
Her posture.
Helen used to stand exactly like that when frightened—shoulders straight, hands hidden inside sleeves, chin lifted so nobody would notice the fear.
Anna was thin, exhausted, and wearing a borrowed coat from the shelter.
She stopped when she saw Richard.
“You look like her.”
Richard almost laughed.
He had spent fifteen years trying not to.
“So do you.”
Anna’s expression hardened.
“I’m not related by blood.”
Michael sat beside Richard with a vending-machine breakfast he had barely touched.
“Are you Helen’s aunt?”
Anna looked at him.
“I’m her Aunt Anna.”
The distinction mattered.
Richard understood immediately.
“Where did you meet my sister?”
“A women’s shelter.”
“When?”
“Fourteen years ago.”
Richard’s throat tightened.
A year after he turned Helen away.
Anna sat.
“She had a baby girl with her.”
“Her first child?”
“Yes.”
“What was her name?”
“Lucy.”
Richard swallowed.
“And Helen—the child upstairs?”
“Born eleven years later.”
Richard frowned.
“That means—”
“Different fathers.”
“Where is Lucy?”
Anna looked at the floor.
“I don’t know.”
Richard’s restraint snapped.
“You just told police my sister had another child and now you don’t know where she is?”
Anna’s eyes flashed.
“You don’t get to be angry with me.”
Richard stopped.
She leaned closer.
“You had money when Helen was sleeping in shelters.”
Michael’s eyes moved toward his father.
Anna continued.
“You had a home. She had nothing.”
“I know.”
“No. You know now because a child collapsed in your restaurant.”
Each word landed cleanly.
“You didn’t know when Helen washed dishes overnight while eight months pregnant. You didn’t know when she slept in a church basement. You didn’t know when Lucy got pneumonia at two and Helen stayed awake three nights because she was afraid the hospital would ask questions.”
Richard said nothing.
Anna’s anger trembled into grief.
“I was there.”
He looked down.
“I wasn’t.”
Michael slowly set down his juice.
Anna noticed him and softened.
“I’m sorry.”
Richard shook his head.
“No. Don’t apologize.”
He deserved his son hearing it.
Maybe Michael needed to know that wealth did not make a father good.
“What happened to Lucy?” Richard asked.
Anna inhaled.
“When Lucy was seven, Helen married a man named David Cross.”
Richard frowned.
“Who was he?”
“He worked construction. At first, he seemed decent.”
“At first?”
Anna’s jaw tightened.
“He drank.”
Richard knew what came next before she said it.
“He hit Helen.”
Michael’s face went pale.
Richard leaned forward.
“Did he hit Lucy?”
“Not that I ever saw.”
“Where is he now?”
“Dead.”
“How?”
“Warehouse accident.”
Something in Anna’s expression made Richard suspicious, but he let it go.
“What happened to Lucy?”
“Child services became involved after Helen went to the ER with a broken rib. Helen was terrified David would hurt Lucy, so she sent the girl to live temporarily with a foster family.”
“Temporarily.”
Anna nodded.
“Then Helen disappeared for almost three months.”
“Why?”
“David found her.”
Richard’s jaw tightened.
“By the time she got away, Lucy’s placement had changed. There were court hearings. Missed appointments. Paperwork.”
“You lost a child because of paperwork?”
Anna bristled.
“We were homeless.”
Richard closed his mouth.
There it was again.
A problem that sounded simple from inside a warm office and impossible from beneath it.
“Did Helen ever find Lucy?”
“No.”
“How old would she be?”
“Fifteen.”
The number hit Richard.
A fifteen-year-old niece somewhere in Colorado.
Maybe.
If she still lived in Colorado.
If she was alive.
Michael spoke quietly.
“Did Helen look for her?”
“Every day.”
Anna smiled sadly.
“She kept a notebook. Names of social workers. Foster agencies. Schools. Phone numbers. She never stopped.”
“Where is the notebook?”
Anna’s eyes shifted away.
Richard noticed.
“Anna.”
“It disappeared after Helen died.”
“How did she die?”
Silence.
This was the question she had avoided.
Anna’s fingers tightened around her coat sleeve.
“She overdosed.”
Richard’s stomach dropped.
Michael looked confused.
“On medicine?”
Anna glanced at him.
Richard stepped in.
“She took too much of something dangerous.”
“By accident?”
Anna looked at Richard.
“I don’t know.”
That answer carried weight.
“You think somebody gave it to her?”
“I think Helen had been clean for three years.”
Richard stared.
“Clean?”
Anna’s face twisted.
“You didn’t know anything about her.”
“No.”
“She got addicted to pain medication after David broke her wrist.”
Richard’s eyes closed.
“She fought it. Rehab twice. Then she got clean.”
“And then?”
“She met another man.”
Richard slowly opened his eyes.
“Who?”
Anna reached into her bag.
She removed a photograph.
Helen stood outside a coffee shop.
Older.
Thinner.
Still unmistakably his sister.
Beside her was a man in a gray suit.
Richard’s blood turned cold.
Victor Hale.
For several seconds he could not hear the hospital sounds around him.
“No.”
Anna watched him.
“You know him.”
Richard took the photograph.
“He’s my business partner.”
“Was he Helen’s boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Then why was he meeting her?”
Richard looked closer.
The photograph had a date stamped on the back.
Six years ago.
Two weeks before Helen died.
“Where did you get this?”
“It was in Helen’s things.”
Richard’s mind raced.
Victor had known him for thirteen years.
Which meant he had already been working with Richard when this photograph was taken.
“Did Helen ever mention Victor?”
“Not by name.”
“What did she say?”
Anna thought.
“She said someone from your world had found her.”
Richard felt sick.
“What else?”
“She said he offered to help find Lucy.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“Then why meet him?”
Anna leaned back.
“Because Helen had something he wanted.”
“What?”
“I never knew.”
A nurse entered before Richard could ask more.
“Helen is awake.”
Anna stood instantly.
Michael jumped to his feet.
Richard followed.
They entered the room together.
Little Helen looked impossibly small in the hospital bed.
An oxygen tube rested beneath her nose.
When she saw Anna, she began to cry.
“Auntie.”
Anna rushed forward.
“Oh, baby.”
Helen clung to her.
Richard watched from several feet away.
Michael stayed beside him.
After a while, Helen noticed Richard.
Her mismatched eyes narrowed.
“You’re the restaurant man.”
“Yes.”
“You carried me.”
“Yes.”
She touched the locket now hanging beside the bed.
“You took Mama’s necklace.”
“I kept it safe.”
“You knew Mama?”
Richard’s throat tightened.
“She was my sister.”
Helen’s eyes widened.
“You’re Uncle Richard?”
He froze.
“You know my name?”
The child nodded.
“Mama said you lived in a castle.”
Michael snorted.
Richard almost smiled despite everything.
“What else did she say?”
Helen looked toward Anna.
Anna’s expression changed.
The little girl continued.
“She said you didn’t want us.”
Richard felt the words enter like a blade.
Michael looked at him.
Helen was not angry.
That made it worse.
Children often accepted rejection as fact long before they understood cruelty.
Richard moved slowly toward the bed.
“I didn’t know you existed.”
Helen considered that.
“Lucy did.”
Richard went still.
“You knew Lucy?”
Helen shook her head.
“Mama talked about her.”
“Did she ever tell you where Lucy was?”
“No.”
Then Helen touched the silver locket.
“She said Lucy had the other half.”
Richard frowned.
“What other half?”
Helen pressed a tiny release beneath the engraved star.
The oval locket opened.
Inside was not a photograph.
It was half of a silver disk.
A broken star.
Richard stared.
Helen whispered, “Mama said my sister had the moon.”
Anna gasped.
Richard turned.
“You knew?”
“No.”
He looked back at the child.
“Did your mother say anything else?”
Helen nodded.
“She said if we ever found Lucy, the star and the moon would fit.”
Richard’s heart began pounding.
Michael stepped closer.
“So Lucy has a matching necklace?”
Helen nodded.
Richard looked at Anna.
A fifteen-year-old girl.
A matching silver pendant.
A missing notebook.
And Victor Hale meeting Helen two weeks before her death.
Richard’s phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Victor.
This time Richard answered.
“Where are you?”
Victor sounded furious.
“You walked out on eighty million dollars last night.”
Richard stared at the photograph in his hand.
“Did you know my sister?”
Silence.
That was enough.
Richard’s voice dropped.
“Victor.”
Another pause.
Then Victor exhaled.
“You need to come to the office before you do something stupid.”
Richard felt every piece of his life begin to shift.
“You knew Helen.”
Victor’s answer came quietly.
“Yes.”
Richard closed his eyes.
“And you never told me.”
“Because she begged me not to.”
May you like
Richard looked at the four-year-old child in the hospital bed.
“Then you’d better start praying that’s the only thing you lied about.”
