The Sister I Had Buried Alive
Chapter 03 - The Sister I Had Buried Alive
We took Hope to the precinct instead of the board meeting.
Grant called fourteen times before I turned off my phone.
Officer Ruiz arranged food and clean clothes while another officer contacted child services. Hope refused to enter the interview room unless Walter and I stayed with her.
She ate half a turkey sandwich, wrapped the rest in a napkin, and tucked it into her pocket.
“For later,” she explained.
That small act hurt more than the note.
My daughter—if she truly was my daughter—had learned to save half a sandwich because she did not know when she would eat again.
Walter gave Officer Ruiz the address of the building where he had met Claire several months earlier. It was on Briar Street in Queens.
“She used the name Mara Reed,” Walter said. “She drew portraits in the park and cleaned offices at night.”
“Why didn’t she contact me?” I asked.
Walter studied me for a long moment.
“She did.”
I felt the air leave my lungs.
“She sent letters to your office,” he continued. “Birthday cards too. Every year.”
“I never received them.”
“Then someone made sure you didn’t.”
Officer Ruiz obtained permission to enter Claire’s apartment. Child services wanted Hope placed in temporary foster care, but she panicked when a caseworker tried to lead her away.
“She’s not taking me,” Hope cried, clutching my blazer. “Aunt Claire said not to let strangers move me again.”
Again.
The word stayed with me.
Officer Ruiz convinced the caseworker to allow Hope to remain with us while they verified the family connection.
The apartment above the laundromat was smaller than my dressing room.
There were two mattresses on the floor, jars of pencils on the windowsill, and dozens of portraits taped to the walls.
Most were of Hope.
One showed her at five, missing her front teeth. Another showed her asleep beside a secondhand Christmas tree. There were drawings of playgrounds, grocery stores, subway riders, and a woman standing outside a glass office tower.
Me.
Claire had drawn me from magazine photographs.
Hope led us to a loose floorboard beneath the smaller mattress.
Inside was a plastic bag containing medical papers, old photographs, and a hospital bracelet.
The bracelet carried my name.
NORA E. VALE.
The date was the day I gave birth.
The words FEMALE INFANT were printed beneath it.
My knees weakened.
Walter caught my elbow before I fell.
Officer Ruiz picked up a photograph from the bag.
I was lying unconscious in a hospital bed.
Claire stood beside me, younger and terrified, holding a newborn wrapped in a pale yellow blanket.
May you like
On the back, Claire had written seven words.
They told Nora her baby was dead.
