I called the police.
This time, I didn’t care whether anyone thought I was overreacting.
I showed them the photograph, the threatening message, and the letter Claire had left behind.
An officer named Ramirez studied everything carefully.
“Do you recognize this man?”
“No.”
“Did Claire ever mention a name?”
I shook my head.
“She never told us any of this.”
He looked at Lily.
“Did your mother ever say anything about someone following her?”
Lily thought for a moment.
“She used to check the windows a lot.”
My heart sank.
“Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“I thought she was just scared.”
Officer Ramirez exchanged a look with his partner.
Then he said something that made my blood run cold.
“There’s something else you need to know.”
He placed another photograph on the table.
It was Claire.
Taken outside a hospital.
Six weeks before her surgery.
Standing beside her car.
And in the background was the same black car we’d seen outside our house.
“This photograph was recovered from your mother’s old apartment,” he said.
“How did you get it?”
“Her landlord found a hidden envelope after the apartment was cleared out.”
Lily stared at the photograph.
“She knew.”
“Apparently.”
I turned toward the officer.
“Then why didn’t she tell us?”
“Maybe she thought telling you would put you in more danger.”
The room became silent.
Then Lily noticed something.
“Wait.”
She pointed to Claire’s hand.
“What?”
“She’s holding something.”
I leaned closer.
There was a tiny piece of paper between Claire’s fingers.
Officer Ramirez enlarged the photograph on his phone.
It was a handwritten number.
4179.
“Is that a code?” I asked.
“Could be.”
Lily suddenly stood up.
“I know that number.”
Everyone looked at her.
“Where?”
“Mom’s bracelet.”
She reached into her backpack and pulled out the silver bracelet Claire had left her.
I turned it over.
I’d never noticed the tiny engraving on the clasp.
4179.
Officer Ramirez’s expression changed.
“Do you have anything else from Claire?”
“The letters.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“Bring them to the station.”
That night, Lily and I barely slept.
At 2:13 a.m., I heard a noise downstairs.
I froze.
Someone was inside the house.
I reached for my phone and quietly opened Lily’s bedroom door.
She was awake.
“Mom?”
“Don’t move.”
We heard footsteps.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Then the sound of a drawer opening downstairs.
I grabbed Lily’s hand.
We locked ourselves in the bathroom and called the police.
The footsteps stopped.
Then came a sound from the hallway.
A piece of paper slid underneath the bathroom door.
Lily covered her mouth.
I picked it up.
There was only one sentence.
You should have let Claire say goodbye.
My hands began shaking.
Minutes later, police arrived.
The intruder was gone.
But they found the back window unlocked.
And on the kitchen counter was something that hadn’t been there before.
A small black envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Not of Claire.
Not of Lily.
It was of me.
Taken that morning.
I was standing outside the grocery store.
On the back, someone had written:
She wasn’t the one we wanted.
I looked at Lily.
“What does that mean?”
Before either of us could answer, Officer Ramirez’s phone rang.
He listened for several seconds.
Then his face went pale.
“Where?” he asked.
A pause.
“Understood.”
He hung up.
“What happened?” I asked.
He looked at Lily.
“Your mother’s medical records were accessed illegally three weeks before her surgery.”
“By whom?”
“We don’t know yet.”
He hesitated.
“But there’s something strange.”
“What?”
“The person who accessed them wasn’t looking for Claire.”
He looked directly at Lily.
“They were looking for you.”
Lily’s face went white.
And then her phone buzzed.
One new message.
From an unknown number.
Ask your father what happened the night you were born.
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