The photograph trembled in the man’s hand.
It was Emma.
Her Emma.
The same little girl Clara had held in her arms twenty-four years ago.
“Where did you get that?” Clara demanded.
The man didn’t answer.
Instead, he looked at the little girl.
“Your daughter is waiting for you.”
Clara’s eyes widened.
“My daughter?”
The man nodded.
“Emma never died in that fire.”
Clara’s knees nearly gave out.
“Then why did everyone tell me she was dead?”
The man’s expression hardened.
“Because someone wanted you to believe it.”
The little girl began crying.
“They took my mother away when she tried to tell people the truth.”
Clara suddenly understood.
The fire hadn’t been an accident.
Someone had stolen her daughter.
Someone had spent twenty-four years making sure Clara would never find her.
“Who?” Clara whispered.
The man looked toward the hotel.
“Your husband.”
Clara froze.
Her husband had always told her that Emma was gone.
He had comforted her through twenty-four years of grief.
He had stood beside her every anniversary of the fire.
He had told her there was nothing left to find.
Clara’s eyes filled with tears.
“He knew?”
The man nodded.
“He knew she survived.”
Clara clutched the music box against her chest.
“Take me to Emma.”
The man opened the car door.
But before Clara could step inside, her phone suddenly rang.
She looked at the screen.
It was her husband’s number.
She answered.
Silence.
Then a trembling female voice whispered through the phone:
“Mom…”
Clara’s entire body froze.
It was Emma.
“Mom… please hurry.”
A pause.
Then Emma whispered:
“He’s here with me.”
The call suddenly went dead.
Clara looked at the black car.
The little girl was crying.
And for the first time in twenty-four years, Clara knew one thing for certain—
her daughter was alive… and someone was desperate to make sure she disappeared again.
