Page 76 of Circle of Strangers
It has to be her.
I use one of the prepaid Visa cards to run a background check, my hands trembling as I input the payment information. A few minutes later, the results load.
Lucinda is living in Schaumburg, Illinois, in a sprawling $3 million brick colonial with a circle drive, guest quarters above a four-car garage, and an in-ground pool. It’s the kind of neighborhood with meticulouslytrimmed hedges, luxury SUVs in the driveway, and homeowners’ association rules about lawn decor.
According to this, she’s married to a man named Robert McClindon, a prominent figure in the Chicago financial industry.
A quick social media search tells me they do, in fact, have a daughter.
For once, she wasn’t lying.
The girl has Lucinda’s sharp cheekbones and delicate nose—but the coffee-brown eyes with the flare of hazel in the middle ...
They’re mine.
She looks to be roughly thirteen, which means Lucinda had her not long after I left.
I study the curated images of a half sister I never knew existed. The resemblance is undeniable.
Does she do to this child what she did to me?
Is their brick McMansion another facade for a house of horrors?
The girl looks happy in the photos—much happier than I ever did at that age.
And Lucinda’s life looks perfect—curated to the point of obsession. Social media photos show staged family dinners, tropical cruises, the daughter’s dance recitals, and charity events attended in gowns worth more than I’ve ever had in my savings account.
She’s built an existence that looks more polished and untouchable than my own.
It dawns on me that perhaps Lucinda has never come looking for me.
She’s set for life—married to a man with money, living in a mansion, raising his child. She has everything she’s ever wanted, and with a daughter to secure her financial future, she doesn’t need me anymore. She has too much to lose by doing anything reckless, by acting on an age-old vendetta.
The idea that she might have never even looked for me stings in a way I wasn’t prepared for. I swallow the lump forming in my throat and push that thought aside. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that she’sthere. Hiding in plain sight. It somehow makes her less ... daunting ... to think about.
She has too much to lose by doing anything crazy.
It’s been weeks since she’s sent a letter.
The last one contained her phone number—maybe that was her final olive branch? Her last attempt before whatever game she was playing started to bore her?
I stare at the screen, contemplating something unthinkable—reaching out to her for help.
The thought alone makes my stomach burn with bile. I’d never trust her alone with Jack or Georgie.Never.Lucinda might look domesticated now, but I know better. She’s the same woman who made my life a living hell. Those designer clothes and expensive zip code don’t make her any less of a monster.
But she has what I need—money. And most importantly, it would be the absolute last place on earth Will would ever think to look for us.
It’s a twisted safety net only Lucinda could offer—if I could even talk her into it.
Hell, if I could talkmyselfinto it ...
I close my eyes and take a breath, hating myself for so much as considering it.
But what other options do I have?
I screenshot photos of her information—Lucinda’s new name, her address, the smiling family photo of her perfect little life—and save it to a hidden photo file on my burner phone. Then I close the app and slip the phone into my pocket, my heart pounding as I tiptoe back to bed. I slide under the sheets, careful not to disturb Will. He rustles but doesn’t wake.
I imagine the day he comes home to an empty house.
