Chapter 4 - THE ROSARY IN THE DARK
I dropped to my knees on the hardwood floor.
The baby was tiny, her face pink and peaceful in the dim light of the closet. She was breathing softly, completely unaware of the chaos erupting through the mansion above her.
My mind raced.
Sofia hadn't run away on the highway. Sofia had never left the house with the baby at all.
I reached out with trembling fingers and gently picked up the child. She weighed almost nothing. She shifted in her sleep, her tiny hand curling into a fist.
Then I looked at the silver rosary resting on the floor where the baby had been.
Vanessa’s rosary.
Vanessa hadn't turned Sofia away at the front door. Vanessa had taken the baby.
“Hannah?”
I froze. The voice came from the hallway.
It was Vanessa.
“Hannah, where are you?” Her footsteps echoed on the marble floor, moving closer to the closet.
Panic seized my chest. If Vanessa found me here with the child, I didn't know what she would do. I pulled the closet door shut just as her shadow crossed the threshold.
I stood in the pitch black, holding the baby tightly to my chest, praying the child wouldn't wake up and cry.
The brass doorknob rattled.
“Damn it,” Vanessa muttered from the other side.
I held my breath. The baby shifted against my collarbone.
Then, heavy footsteps approached.
“Vanessa.” It was Luca’s voice. He sounded exhausted. “The police found Marcus’s car. It was abandoned. There’s blood on the steering wheel.”
My blood ran cold.
“Oh my god,” Vanessa gasped, sounding perfectly horrified. “Luca, I am so sorry.”
“They’re dragging the river,” Luca said, his voice cracking. “My sister… they think he killed her.”
Tears burned my eyes. Sofia.
“Come upstairs,” Vanessa said softly. “You need a drink. There’s nothing more you can do tonight.”
Their footsteps faded away.
I stood in the dark for a long time, rocking the sleeping baby. My mind was screaming. If Marcus had taken Sofia, why was the baby in the coat closet? Why was Vanessa’s rosary here?
I had to get to Luca. But I couldn't trust anyone in this house right now.
Carefully, I slipped out of the closet. The hallway was empty. I hurried toward the back stairwell, keeping the baby hidden beneath my apron.
I reached Teresa’s bedroom on the second floor. The old woman was sitting up in bed, staring blankly at the wall.
“Mrs. Moretti,” I whispered, locking the bedroom door behind me.
She turned her head. When she saw what I was holding, her hands flew to her mouth.
I laid the baby gently on the mattress.
Teresa let out a strangled sob and reached out, her shaking hands hovering over the child.
“My grandbaby,” she wept. “My beautiful girl.”
I pulled the blue hospital blanket away to check the baby’s temperature.
As the fabric fell away, Teresa gasped.
Tucked inside the folds of the blanket was a crumpled train ticket to Montreal.
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The name printed on it wasn't Sofia’s.
It was mine.
