CHAPTER 2 — THE CABIN BY THE LAKE
I barely slept that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Colette standing beneath those lavender balloons with one hand resting protectively over a child Bennett insisted did not exist.
Then I saw the journal.
The donations are flowing in.
No one will be able to take you away from me again.
The words looped through my mind until dawn.
Bennett found me sitting at the kitchen table before sunrise, the journal open between my hands.
He didn't ask where I'd found it.
He simply read the latest page.
When he finished, he looked older somehow.
"This isn't a pregnancy journal," he said quietly.
"What is it?"
He closed the cover.
"It's obsession."
I wanted to argue.
Instead, I heard myself whisper,
"She invited me to Lake Morrison."
His eyes snapped toward me.
"When?"
"Noon."
"You are not going."
"I have to."
"No."
The firmness in his voice surprised me.
"Sarah, if she's lying about an entire pregnancy, we have no idea what else she's capable of."
"I've known her for twenty years."
"You knew who she wanted you to believe she was."
Silence filled the kitchen.
Finally he reached across the table.
"If you insist on meeting her, you won't go alone."
I shook my head.
"She specifically said alone."
"Exactly."
By eleven thirty, I was driving toward Lake Morrison anyway.
Bennett wasn't in the passenger seat.
At least not visibly.
He had reluctantly agreed to stay back after making me promise to keep my phone's location active the entire time.
"If I don't hear from you in thirty minutes," he'd said, "I'm calling the police."
I had rolled my eyes then.
Now, halfway down the isolated forest road, I wished he had ignored my objections and followed me.
The farther I drove, the fewer houses remained.
Eventually there were only pine trees.
The road narrowed into gravel.
The lake appeared through the branches like a sheet of dark glass.
Then I saw the cabin.
It looked abandoned.
Weathered wood.
Broken shutters.
No nearby neighbors.
No cars.
Except Colette's silver SUV.
She was already waiting.
She stood on the porch wearing jeans instead of the elegant pink dress from the shower.
No makeup.
No carefully styled hair.
No rounded belly.
My feet stopped moving.
For several seconds neither of us spoke.
Then she gave me a tired smile.
"I wondered how long it would take you to notice."
I stared at her flat stomach.
Every ounce of air left my lungs.
"There..."
My voice cracked.
"There never was a baby."
She looked down.
"No."
I felt physically sick.
"You lied to everyone."
"Yes."
"You let your mother cry in front of two hundred people."
"Yes."
"You accepted gifts."
Another pause.
"Yes."
The word echoed across the quiet lake.
My anger exploded.
"WHY?"
The birds scattered from nearby trees.
Colette didn't flinch.
Instead she whispered,
"Because my daughter is alive."
The sentence made no sense.
I laughed bitterly.
"No, Colette."
"You don't have a daughter."
"I do."
"No, you don't."
"I did."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"They took her."
Everything inside me froze.
"What are you talking about?"
She stepped aside.
"Come inside."
Against every instinct, I followed.
The cabin was cleaner than it looked from outside.
Boxes lined one wall.
File folders covered the dining table.
Photographs.
Medical records.
Court documents.
Newspaper clippings.
Every surface held evidence of something.
Not madness.
An investigation.
My gaze landed on a framed photograph.
A little girl.
Maybe three years old.
Brown curls.
Bright green eyes.
Laughing at the camera.
I looked back at Colette.
"Who is she?"
Colette picked up the frame with trembling hands.
"My daughter."
"Her name?"
"...Lillian."
I stared at her.
"Colette...you've never been pregnant."
"I know."
"Then whose child is this?"
She swallowed.
"My adopted daughter."
My heartbeat slowed.
"What?"
"For eight months."
I blinked.
"What do you mean eight months?"
"We completed the adoption."
She handed me a stack of documents.
Official papers.
Family court.
Temporary custody.
Final placement.
Photographs.
Everything looked genuine.
Until the final page.
Custody revoked.
Reason:
Fraudulent documentation under investigation.
I looked up.
"What happened?"
Colette's entire body shook.
"They said the agency wasn't legitimate."
"Who?"
"The state."
"And Lillian?"
"They removed her."
"When?"
"Three years ago."
Her voice broke.
"I never saw her again."
The room became impossibly quiet.
"I hired lawyers."
She continued almost mechanically.
"I spent every dollar I had."
"I searched every foster registry."
"I filed appeals."
"Nothing."
"They sealed the records."
I looked back at the journal.
The letters suddenly made horrifying sense.
She hadn't been writing to an imaginary child.
She had been writing to one she'd already lost.
"So why fake a pregnancy?"
The question hung between us.
Colette closed her eyes.
"Because someone contacted me."
My stomach tightened.
"Who?"
"I don't know his real name."
She opened a folder.
Inside was a printed email.
We know where your daughter is.
"If you want her back," the message continued,
"prove you're financially prepared to raise her."
Another page.
Wire transfer instructions.
Another.
Anonymous donations.
Another.
Instructions for creating a public fundraiser.
Then another line.
People give more generously to miracles than tragedies.
Ice spread through my chest.
"Oh my God..."
"They told me nobody would donate to another custody case."
She laughed bitterly.
"But everyone donates to a miracle pregnancy."
I whispered,
"So the baby shower..."
"...was never about a baby."
"It was fundraising."
"Yes."
A floorboard creaked outside.
Both of us turned.
Someone was walking around the cabin.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Colette's face drained of color.
"No..."
She rushed toward the window.
"They found me."
"Who?"
"The people sending the emails."
Another footstep.
Closer.
Then—
A sharp knock.
Three slow taps against the front door.
Neither of us breathed.
Then a man's voice came through the wood.
Calm.
Almost cheerful.
"Colette?"
A pause.
"I know your friend is inside."
My blood turned to ice.
The voice continued.
"You shouldn't have shown her the files."
Then another sentence.
May you like
One that made every hair on my arms stand up.
"Open the door... or I'll tell Sarah who her husband really met at the baby shower."
