“You have nothing to fear from me. I’m not here to hurt you, and you’re not in any trouble.”
I looked up into his steel-blue eyes and tried to gauge his honesty. Blank. His eyes were blank canvases. His face was an expressionless mask.
Steelsuits him.
Austin nodded. “I know this is scary, but I’d like to ask you some questions.”
Scary wasn’t strong enough. I was terrified. But the sooner I answered his questions, the sooner he’d leave me alone. “Okay.”
“Do you remember anything at all about your parents?”
Why was he asking about my parents? And which ones? I had biological parents, a couple I referred to as my foster parents, and my adoptive parents.
I didn’t remember my biological parents; I didn’t even know their names. I’d asked Bobby and Jodie about them once, but they said there was no paperwork prior to my arrival at the adoption agency.
No one knows who they are.
I didn’t remember the people I’d lived with, the ones who died in a fire when I was three. There were no pictures on social media, no records, no evidence I’d ever lived with them. I onlyknew I had because my parents told me that I’d been found in a car in the driveway while firefighters fought the blaze.
Everyone assumed I’d lived with them, but no one knew how or why I ended up there.
At least that’s what the Novaks told me. After I turned twenty-one, I asked the adoption agency, but they either didn’t know or wouldn’t tell me.
“Why are you asking about them?” I asked, my voice shaking as my chin trembled.
I straightened my spine and swallowed my fear. Or at least I tried to. I doubted I was fooling either man sitting at the table.
“I work for an insurance investigation company, and we have a few questions about your birth parents.”
“I never met them. I don’t even know their names.” My voice cut out.
Austin pulled a bagged photo out of his leather messenger bag. “Have you ever seen these people?”
I took the photo, adjusting it so the light didn’t glare off the protective plastic.
I’d seen enough TV shows to recognize the bag.
Why is it in an evidence bag?I might have asked, but the image stole my ability to think.
A couple with a baby wrapped in a blanket. A blanket decorated with cherries and hearts.
My free hand lifted to my cherry earring.
My blanket.
There may have been thousands of these blankets sold, but only one had my name embroidered in the corner with a cherry topping the ‘i’ in my name.
My vision blurred as emotions welled up.
The frayed edges and faded coloring told me the photo was old.
The woman seemed familiar, but I’d never seen her before.
She has my eyes.
The emotions spilled over. I wiped away a tear.
He has my hair.
