Page 64 of The Other Mother
"Or," Maria continues, "you can fight. Go back to Adam, pretend you've forgiven him, gather more evidence from the inside. But if you do that, you risk losing Eva when the authorities get involved. You risk her being taken away during the investigation. You’re a stranger to her, after all.”
I hold Eva closer, feeling her warm breath against my neck. She smells like baby soap and that indescribable sweetness that I've learned means home. The thought of handing her over, even temporarily, even to family, makes my chest feel like it's caving in.
"You got to raise her for two months," Maria says, and there's no accusation in her voice, just exhausted sadness. "I never even held my daughter. Which of us has lost more?"
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes. Not the burner phone, but my real phone, the one Adam gave me, the one I should have thrown in a dumpster hours ago.
The text message makes my blood turn to ice:
I know you're at the cemetery. I know you're with the Santos girl. Come home now, or I call Child Protective Services and tell them you're having a psychotic break. You have one hour.
I look around the dark cemetery, suddenly aware of how exposed we are out here. The wrought iron gatesthat seemed welcoming when I arrived now look like prison bars. My rental car is parked fifty yards away, but it might as well be on the moon.
"He's been tracking my phone," I whisper, showing Maria the text.
That's when I see the headlights turning through the cemetery entrance. Adam's white F-150, moving slowly between the headstones like a predator stalking prey.
Maria grabs my arm. "He's not here to talk. We need to run. Now."
But Eva is crying now, startled awake by my sudden tension, and my car is parked near the entrance where Adam's truck is heading. We're trapped between the graves and the gates, with nowhere to hide except behind headstones.
Adam's truck stops near my rental car, and three men get out. I recognize Adam immediately, even in the moonlight. The other two are strangers, but one of them carries what looks like a medical bag.
"Claire, honey," Adam calls out, his voice carrying across the cemetery with false calm. "Let's get you the help you need."
The help. Like I'm the one who needs fixing. Like I'm the one who's lost my mind.
Eva's cries echo off the marble headstones, a sound that seems to wake the dead.
31
THE ESCAPE
Adam's voice carries across the cemetery like a funeral director's, all false sympathy and practiced concern. "Claire, you're having a breakdown. Dr. Martinez here is going to give you something to help you relax, and we're going to get you the care you need."
The man in scrubs steps forward, and I can see him clearly now in the moonlight. He's young, maybe thirty, with the kind of soft face that probably makes patients trust him. The medical bag in his companion's hand catches the light, and I know exactly what's inside. Sedatives. Restraints. Whatever they need to make me compliant.
Eva's cries pierce the night air, high and desperate, as if she can sense the danger closing in around us. I bounce her gently, trying to calm her, but my own panic is making her worse.
"Claire, you're scaring the baby," Adam calls out,taking another step closer. "Just come home. We can work this out."
Work this out. Like our marriage is a budget dispute instead of a criminal conspiracy.
"He's lying," Maria whispers beside me. "That's not a doctor. That's James Rodriguez. He works for Ava Pierce. I have recordings of him arranging placements."
The second man, the one with the medical bag, looks familiar now. I've seen him in Adam's files, listed as a "consultant." Another piece of the trafficking network, masquerading as medical help.
"You know what you have to do," Maria continues, her voice barely audible. "Trust me."
Before I can ask what she means, Maria grabs a loose decorative stone from a nearby grave and hurls it at a tall monument topped with a granite angel. The stone hits with a sharp crack, and suddenly the cemetery explodes with light. Motion-sensor security floods illuminate us like actors on a stage, casting harsh shadows between the headstones.
"The back gate!" Maria shouts, grabbing my arm. "There's a hole in the fence!"
We run.
I've never tried to sprint while holding a crying baby, and every step sends shockwaves through my body. Eva bounces against my chest, her wails growing louder with each jarring movement. Behind us, I hear Adam shouting orders, hear heavy footsteps pounding against gravel.
Maria knows this cemetery like I know my own house. She leads us between towering monuments and family mausoleums, taking sharp turns that I never would have seen in the dark. My high school track coach used to say that fear makes you faster than any training ever could. Tonight, I understand what he meant.
