Page 54 of The Other Mother
Some even list agencies I don’t recognize:Silver Rock Partners,BrightStart Domestic Advocates,J.H. Consulting.
There’s nothing random. This isn’t an accident. It’s a system.
It’s a deliberate choice based on my profile: recent loss of my mother, isolated in a new city, husband who works long hours, history of pregnancy complications. They saw my grief, my desperation, my willingness to sign anything if it meant not losing another person I loved.
And Mara? She was probably on the other side of this equation. The mother whose child would be reassigned to someone more "suitable."
I close the laptop and walk to the kitchen window. The sun is starting to rise over the mountains, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold that should be beautiful but instead feel like a mockery. How can the world look so normal when everything I thought I knew has been turned inside out?
I’mat the front window when the garage across the cul-de-sac shudders open. Sharon Henderson steps out in a thin robe and running shoes, tugging her recycling bin to the curb. She spots me and gives a small, awkward half-wave.
I open the door before I can talk myself out of it and cross the street barefoot. “Sharon? Can I ask you something?”
Her smile is tight. “Sure.”
“A few weeks ago, I asked about Ring footage from the day we brought Eva home.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, you said that your husband is big on privacy but this is very important. Is there any way you still have it? I saw a gray infant seat on your garage shelf and I keep thinking I’m misremembering something. I won’t share it with anyone, I promise.”
She goes pink in the cheeks, then exhales. “Sorry, I was being a bit… evasive. My sister is doing IVF and the courier is dropping off deliveries here. We use my address because I’m home to sign, and I didn’t want that showing up on the neighborhood Ring feed.”
“So, you still have it? It didn’t auto-delete?”
“Yes.
The tightness in my chest loosens a notch.
“Adam knocked the morning you two were discharged from the hospital. Your fancy one got delayedin shipping. We loaned him the gray one for a couple of days. You brought it back once the white one arrived.”
My face gets hot. “I’m sorry. I’ve been?—”
“I know.” Her voice softens. “I’ll text you the video clip so you can stop wondering.”
A moment later, my phone buzzes. In the grainy Ring frame, a white cooler-sized tank is carted to their door. I scroll forward a few minutes and then see Adam carrying the gray seat out of their driveway.
Sharon watches me watch it. “You okay?”
“Working on it,” I say. And I mean it more than I expect. “Thank you.”
Back at home,my phone buzzes again. A news alert.
Local Woman Found Dead in Suspected Suicide
Mara Vasquez, 34.
I hold the phone with both hands, shocked. The article is short, perfunctory. There are no quotes from family members or a mention of an autopsy. Just the basic facts delivered in that clinical, newspaper tone that makes tragedy sound routine.
There's a photo. Mara's purse on the ground, contents spilled across concrete. Her wallet. Some loose change. A crumpled tissue. But no phone. Nothing that might contain evidence or communications.
I can’t believe what I just read. Did she really kill herself? Why? My mind starts to spin. I know that shewas hurting but she was also so eager to get to the truth. If Eva is Mara’s baby, wouldn’t she want her back? I just can’t believe that she would do something like that. On the other hand, I didn’t really know her.
I check the envelope of the flash drive again. When I tip it over, a small piece of paper falls out.
"Find the file. Not everything is lost."
I stare at the flash drive in my hand. She sent this. Mara, who spent her last days fighting for the truth while everyone around her called her crazy. She found this evidence, got it to me, and then ...
