DON’T EMBARRASS YOURSELF, SWEETHEART. YOUR HUSBAND HAS ALREADY CHOSEN ME.” THE MAFIA BOSS’S MISTRESS SAID IT IN FRONT OF 140 GUESTS AT HIS DAUGHTER’S ENGAGEMENT DINNER—B

I didn't go home after the funeral.

I drove straight to the downtown public library, dragging Frank with me.

"Evelyn, what are we looking for?" Frank asked as we sat in front of the microfiche machine in the basement archives.

"Thirty-two years ago," I said, furiously spinning the dial on the machine, scanning the old newspaper headlines from 1994. "Caterina said she gave birth in the same hospital where Marco was declared dead. St. Jude’s Medical Center."

I stopped on a newspaper scan dated September 12, 1994.

The headline on the third page read:

INFANT ABDUCTED FROM ST. JUDE’S MATERNITY WARD. PARENTS DEVASTATED.

Beneath the headline was a black-and-white photograph of a young couple, weeping outside the hospital doors, holding up a tiny pink blanket.

I looked closely at the photograph of the young mother.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

I knew that face.

Even thirty years younger, the resemblance was undeniable. The shape of her eyes. The slope of her chin.

"Frank," I whispered, pointing at the screen. "Look at the mother's name."

Frank leaned in.

Margaret Vale.

"Vale," Frank repeated. "Serena's last name."

"Vincent didn't hide Serena under a fake name," I realized, the pieces finally clicking together. "He kept her real last name."

"Why would he do that?" Frank asked.

"Because he felt guilty," I said softly. "He knew he was raising a stolen child. It was his sick way of letting her keep a piece of her real identity."

I printed the newspaper article.

I had to tell Serena. I had to tell her that her real mother was out there, someone who hadn't abandoned her, someone who had had her child stolen in the dead of night by the mafia.

I called Serena. She agreed to meet me at a quiet coffee shop near the waterfront.

When I arrived, she was sitting in a booth, staring blankly out the window at the rain. She looked exhausted.

I slid into the booth across from her and placed the printed article on the table.

"What is this?" she asked, not looking at it.

"Serena," I said gently. "Vincent wasn't your father. Caterina wasn't your mother."

Serena frowned, looking down at the paper. She read the headline. She looked at the picture of Margaret Vale.

"This is my mother?" she whispered, touching the grainy photograph.

"Yes."

Tears welled up in Serena's eyes. "They've been looking for me?"

"For thirty-two years," I said.

Serena broke down, burying her face in her hands. The relief that she hadn't committed the ultimate sin with Vincent washed over her, mixing with the profound grief of a stolen life.

"I'll help you find her," I promised, reaching across the table and taking her hand. "We'll hire private investigators. Whatever it takes."

Serena looked up at me, her eyes filled with gratitude. "Why are you helping me, Evelyn? After everything I did to you?"

"Because you were a victim of Vincent just as much as I was," I said honestly. "And it's time we both got our lives back."

We left the coffee shop together.

I felt a sense of peace I hadn't felt in months. Anna was safe. The baby was safe. Serena was going to find her real family.

But when I returned to the large, empty house that Vincent had left me, I noticed something strange.

The front door was slightly ajar.

I froze on the porch.

I pushed the door open slowly.

"Anna?" I called out.

No answer.

I walked into the foyer.