For the first time in my life, I wished I had never learned my mother's lullaby.
Gabriel Varrick stood across from me, waiting for an answer.
Outside his study, rain battered the windows.
Inside, the music box continued playing.
I reached forward and closed its lid.
The silence that followed felt worse.
"My mother's name is Margaret Donnelly," I said.
"Has she ever used another name?"
"Not that I know of."
"Where was she born?"
"Upstate New York."
"Where?"
"I don't know exactly."
His eyes narrowed.
"You don't know where your own mother was born?"
"Do you know the name of every hospital your parents ever visited?"
"Claire."
"No. You don't get to do that."
He looked surprised.
"Do what?"
"Interrogate me because your daughter recognized a song."
"My daughter recognized a song connected to my wife's death."
"And I'm trying to help her."
For a moment, we stared at each other.
Then Gabriel sat down.
The movement seemed to cost him something.
"You're right."
I hadn't expected that.
He rubbed his forehead.
"I haven't slept. My daughter is dying in the next room. My wife is buried in the ground. And someone sent her a message about a secret I know nothing about."
His voice broke on the last sentence.
Only slightly.
But I heard it.
"I need answers," he said.
"So do I."
He pushed the music box toward me.
"Take a photograph of the note. Ask your mother whether she recognizes the handwriting."
I looked at the seven words again.
My mother should have kept her secret.
My mother.
Or Elena's mother?
The message didn't say.
"Why did you hire me?" I asked.
"Vivian recommended you."
"That's all?"
"Yes."
"Did you know about my mother before tonight?"
"No."
I believed him.
I wasn't sure why.
Perhaps because the man standing before me looked as confused as I felt.
I returned to Lily's bedroom shortly after midnight.
She was sleeping.
Gabriel had arranged a small guest room beside hers, but I couldn't bring myself to leave her alone.
I sat in an armchair near the window.
At two seventeen, Lily woke.
She looked toward the doorway.
Then she began crying.
Not loudly.
Just small, frightened sounds that seemed too weak for a child her age.
I moved closer.
"Hey, Button's mom. I'm right here."
She looked at me.
"Don't let her come back."
"Who?"
"The lady."
I kept my voice steady.
"You're safe with Dr. Hale and me right now."
Lily looked at the door again.
"She said Daddy wouldn't believe me."
My stomach tightened.
"What did she say Daddy wouldn't believe?"
Lily shook her head.
I didn't push.
Instead, I asked whether she wanted her bunny tucked beneath the blanket.
She nodded.
After a while, she whispered, "She smelled like flowers."
"What kind of flowers?"
"The ones in Mommy's bathroom."
I remembered seeing a vase of white lilies beside Elena's photograph.
"Did she wear perfume?"
A tiny nod.
"Did you know her?"
Lily pulled Button against her chest.
"She was nice before."
Before.
I waited.
Lily closed her eyes.
"She gave me cookies."
Then she fell asleep again.
I sat beside her until dawn.
At seven, Dr. Hale arrived with a nutrition specialist.
Lily accepted three spoonfuls of yogurt while I hummed.
Gabriel watched from the doorway.
When she asked for another spoonful, he turned his face away.
I pretended not to notice.
By nine, I had called my mother's rehabilitation center six times.
She finally answered on the seventh.
"Claire, sweetheart, are you all right?"
Her voice sounded tired.
I pictured her sitting in the rehabilitation garden with a blanket over her knees, pretending she wasn't in pain.
"I'm fine, Mom."
"You sound strange."
"I started a new placement."
"Another overnight?"
"Just for a little while."
She sighed.
"You work too hard."
I almost laughed.
My mother had spent thirty years working two jobs, repairing our clothes, stretching grocery money, and pretending that every birthday present had been bought on sale.
She had no idea what her medical bills were doing to me.
"Mom, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Where did you learn the Little Lantern Song?"
Silence.
I checked the screen.
"Mom?"
"I'm here."
"Who taught it to you?"
A longer silence.
"Why are you asking?"
"A little girl recognized it."
I heard something fall.
Then my mother gasped.
"Mom?"
"I'm all right."
"Are you sure?"
"Claire, listen to me carefully."
Her voice had changed.
The gentle woman who had taught me to tie my shoes and make pancakes suddenly sounded like someone trying to outrun a nightmare.
"Where are you?"
"At work."
"Where?"
"Tribeca."
"What's the family's name?"
I hesitated.
"Varrick."
The line went silent.
Then my mother whispered, "Oh, God."
"Mom?"
"Leave that house."
I stood.
"What?"
"Leave immediately."
"Why?"
"Because if the Varricks have found you, it means she has found you too."
My mouth went dry.
"Who?"
But my mother was already crying.
"Claire, I need you to listen. Do not tell anyone your birthday."
I stared at the phone.
"My birthday?"
"Do not tell them where you were born. Do not show them any photographs of me. And whatever you do, do not sing that song again."
"Mom, you're frightening me."
"I'm trying to keep you alive."
The call ended.
I immediately called back.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
I grabbed my coat.
Gabriel appeared in the doorway.
"Where are you going?"
"My mother."
"What happened?"
"I don't know."
He looked at my face.
Then he reached for his phone.
"Daniel. Bring the car around."
"I didn't ask for your help."
"No," he said. "But you're going to get it."
Twenty minutes later, we reached the rehabilitation center.
My mother's room was empty.
Her bed had been stripped.
Her wheelchair stood beside the window.
A nurse told us she had left with a woman claiming to be her sister.
"My mother doesn't have a sister," I said.
The nurse frowned.
"The woman showed identification."
"What name?"
She checked the visitor log.
"Victoria Bell."
Gabriel went still.
I turned toward him.
"You know her?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he took out his phone.
"Lock down the penthouse. Nobody enters Lily's room without my authorization."
My blood ran cold.
"Gabriel."
He looked at me.
"Who is Victoria Bell?"
His expression was unreadable.
"My wife's closest friend."
For a moment, the hallway seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
"Elena's friend?"
"She was with us the night Elena died."
I remembered Lily's words.
She was nice before.
She gave me cookies.
She smelled like flowers.
"Does Victoria wear floral perfume?"
Gabriel's eyes hardened.
"Yes."
I pulled out my phone and showed him the photograph of the music box.
"Does she know this song?"
"I don't know."
"Then call her."
He dialed.
No answer.
He called again.
Voicemail.
By the time we reached the parking garage, Gabriel's security team had located Victoria's car.
It had been abandoned near the East River.
My mother was nowhere to be found.
Gabriel opened the passenger door for me.
"Claire, I need you to tell me everything your mother said."
I repeated the conversation.
When I reached the part about my birthday, his hand tightened around the car door.
"What?" I asked.
"How old are you?"
"Thirty."
"When were you born?"
I remembered my mother's warning.
"Why?"
"Because my father died thirty years ago."
I stared at him.
"What does that have to do with me?"
Gabriel looked away.
"My father had another family before he married my mother."
The car seemed suddenly too small.
"That's not my problem."
"I hope you're right."
We drove back toward Tribeca.
Halfway across the Williamsburg Bridge, my phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
A photograph appeared on the screen.
My mother was sitting in a wooden chair inside a room I didn't recognize.
Her hands were bound.
A woman's gloved hand rested on her shoulder.
Below the photograph was a message.
SING THE LAST VERSE, CLAIRE.
Another message arrived.
OR YOUR MOTHER DIES BEFORE MIDNIGHT.
I showed Gabriel.
His expression changed.
Not into the cold anger I had expected.
Into recognition.
"Claire," he said, "there's something you need to know about that song."
"What?"
"My wife used to sing it."
I stared at him.
"You said Lily didn't know it from her mother."
"She didn't. Elena stopped singing it years ago."
"Why?"
Gabriel looked at the photograph of my mother.
"Because she said it reminded her of the woman who disappeared with her baby."