“Hurry up.”
Janice.
Gabriela’s blood turned to ice.
Another voice answered, male and unfamiliar. “I’m trying.”
Gabriela called 911 and whispered her address.
The dispatcher told her to stay on the line.
The lock clicked again.
The chair beneath the knob scraped as pressure pushed against the door.
Willow’s eyes opened wide in terror.
Gabriela lifted a finger to her lips.
The chain snapped tight as the door opened an inch.
A man’s hand reached through.
Gabriela grabbed the heaviest thing near her—the cast-iron skillet Denise had given her when Willow was born—and slammed it against the door with all her strength.
The hand vanished with a cry.
Gabriela shoved the door closed, locked it again, and dragged Willow toward the bathroom, the only room with no window large enough for a person.
They sat in the bathtub, Willow shaking against her, while sirens rose in the distance.
By the time police arrived, the hallway was empty.
But not completely.
On the floor outside Gabriela’s door lay a dropped manila envelope.
Officer Miller opened it with gloved hands.
Inside were blank school withdrawal forms, a copy request for Willow’s birth certificate, and a typed letter authorizing Vanessa Alvarez to collect Willow from school.
At the bottom of the letter was Gabriela’s signature.
Except Gabriela had never signed it.
Officer Miller looked at the forged name.
Then at Gabriela.
“This changes things,” she said.
Across town, two hours later, Janice sat in her car behind a closed pharmacy and listened to her voicemail with trembling hands.
Her mother had called seven times.
Her father had called four.
But the message that made her face go pale was from Arthur Harlan’s office.
“Ms. Janice Alvarez, this is regarding your inquiry into the Elise Alvarez estate. Be advised that the trustee has reviewed the family contact history and will not recognize any guardianship claim not approved by the court. Also, per Ms. Elise Alvarez’s sealed instruction, any attempt to remove the child from her mother may trigger immediate disclosure of the supplemental evidence.”
Janice replayed the final words.
Supplemental evidence.
Her hand tightened around the phone.
In the rearview mirror, she saw Piper asleep in the back seat, still clutching the stolen blue doll’s matching ribbon.
Janice turned sharply.
“Where did you get that?” she whispered.
Piper stirred. “Grandma gave it to me.”
Janice reached back and snatched the ribbon.
Something small and silver fell from the fabric onto the car floor.
A flash drive.
Janice stared at it.
Then her phone buzzed again.
A new message.
Unknown number.