The Substitute

Chapter 13 — Home

*My dearest Margaret,*

*If you’re reading this, I’m dead, and you already know what that means. Don’t grieve. I’ve been dying since the night of the fire — some of us just take longer to finish.*

*You know what Thomas did. You’ve always known. The fire, the insurance, taking Lena. I couldn’t prove it then, and I can’t prove it now, except for this: the policy. Look at the dates, Margaret. He doubled the coverage six months before. Six months. He was planning it for half a year, and I was too blind — too willing to be blind — to see it.*

*But here’s what you don’t know. What I’ve never told anyone.*

*The twins. Lena and Nora. Thomas didn’t take Lena by accident. He chose her. Do you understand? He looked at my two identical daughters and he chose one. Lena was — is — the brave one. The one who asked questions. I think he was afraid of her. I think he took her because she was the one who would have fought him.*

*And Nora — my sweet, quiet Nora — he left her. In the basement. With Milo. He left her to die, Margaret. He locked my babies in a burning house and took the brave one and ran.*

*But Nora didn’t die. Neither did Milo. God — or luck, or Daniel Okafor — saved them. And Thomas took Lena and vanished, and I’ve spent twenty years not knowing if my daughter is alive or dead.*

*The proof is in this box. The insurance documents. Lena’s diary. And this letter. Take it to the police, Margaret. Take it to that reporter — what’s her name, Voss. Don’t let him get away with it. Don’t let me have died for nothing.*

*And Margaret — if Nora ever comes back — if my quiet girl ever finds her way home — tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I tried to get back to the basement. Tell her the stairs were gone. Tell her I screamed her name until my throat bled.*

*Tell her I never stopped looking.*

*All my love, Eleanor*

Nora finished reading, and the parlor was silent except for the ticking of a clock.

She was crying. She hadn’t realized.

“She tried,” Margaret whispered. “She tried to get to you. The firefighters had to drag her away. She never forgave herself.”

“Why didn’t you take this to the police?” Tom demanded. “Twenty years — you sat on this for twenty years?”

Margaret’s face crumpled. “My husband was the medical examiner. Do you understand what that means? If I’d gone to the police, I’d have been accusing my own husband of covering up a murder. And Thomas — Thomas had people. Powerful people. I was a widow with a garden and a mortgage. I was afraid.” She looked at Nora. “I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry.”

Nora wiped her eyes. “Where is Thomas now?”

“I don’t know. He sent one letter — 2008, postmarked from Canada. Said he was sorry. Said the girls were —” She stopped.

“The girls were what?”

“Said Lena was safe. That she’d been adopted by good people. That I should tell Eleanor —” Margaret’s voice broke. “Eleanor was already dead.”

“Do you still have the letter?”

Margaret nodded at the box. “At the bottom.”

Nora dug through the documents and found it — a single page, the handwriting jagged.

*Margaret — I’m sorry. For all of it. Lena is safe. She’s with a good family in Portland. They don’t know who she is. It’s better that way. Don’t look for me. — T.*

Portland. A good family. They don’t know who she is.

The Calloways. Kind people. A car accident when she was nineteen.

But wait — Nora had been surrendered at a hospital in 2009. At three years old. If Thomas had placed Lena with a family in Portland —

“Margaret,” Nora said slowly. “This letter says Lena was adopted by a family in Portland. But I was surrendered at a hospital. At age three. Those don’t match.”

Margaret frowned. “What do you mean?”

“If Thomas gave Lena to the Calloways as a baby, why was I surrendered at a hospital at three years old?”

Silence.

And then Milo — quiet, overlooked Milo — said:

“Maybe he didn’t give her to them. Maybe she ran away.”

They stared at him.

“Lena was the brave one,” Milo said. “Remember? Maybe she ran.”

Nora thought about the note Diane had described: *Keep her safe. Her name is Lena.* Left at a hospital emergency entrance. A three-year-old, alone.

Had Lena — the brave one — escaped from Thomas and gotten herself to a hospital?

Or had Thomas left her there?

“There’s one way to find out,” Nora said. “We find Thomas Ashford.”

“How?” Tom asked. “He vanished twenty years ago.”

Nora picked up the letter. The postmark: 2008. Canada.

“We start with this,” she said. “And Rachel — Rachel has resources. Contacts. If anyone can find a ghost, it’s her.”

She looked at Margaret. “Will you help us? Really help us this time?”

Margaret straightened. For the first time, Nora saw the resemblance to Eleanor — the same chin, the same stubborn set of the jaw.

“Yes,” Margaret said. “It’s time.”

She picked up the lockbox and held it out.

“Take it. Take it all. And find my niece.”

“Nieces,” Milo corrected. “You have two.”

Margaret looked at him — really looked at him — and her face broke.

“Milo,” she whispered. “My God. You’re — you’re the boy. The one who —” She knelt and pulled him into her arms. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Milo patted her back awkwardly. “It’s okay,” he said. “Lena found me.”

But Nora wasn’t listening. She was staring at the letter — at the jagged handwriting, at the postmark.

Because something was wrong. Something she couldn’t quite name.

*They don’t know who she is. It’s better that way.*

If Thomas had placed Lena with a family secretly — why would he write to Margaret about it? Why leave a paper trail?

Unless the letter was never meant to be found.

Unless it was meant to be found.

Nora folded the letter carefully and put it in her pocket.

She had a feeling they were being led somewhere.

She just didn’t know where yet.