MY HUSBAND LIED ABOUT GOING TO WORK FOR FIVE DAYS—SO I FOLLOWED HIM. THE PERSON HE MET WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD FOR NINE YEARS.

The hospital smelled like disinfectant and burnt coffee.

I remembered that smell from the night Eliam collapsed.

I remembered it from my mother's final hours.

Now I was standing beneath fluorescent lights, waiting to find out whether my sister was going to die a second time.

A nurse directed us to the emergency department.

The officer who'd brought us, Sergeant Michelle Torres, told us Rachel had been discovered behind the building shortly after two in the afternoon.

She'd suffered a head injury.

There were bruises on her wrists.

Someone had apparently restrained her.

But she was breathing when paramedics arrived.

"Was anyone arrested?" I asked.

"Not yet."

"Did you find the person who hurt her?"

"We're working on it."

Eliam stood beside me, staring at the emergency-room doors.

I looked at him.

"Did Rachel tell you someone was following her?"

"She said she'd noticed a gray sedan twice this week."

"And you didn't think to mention that?"

He rubbed his face.

"I thought it might be surveillance connected to the legal case."

"Surveillance?"

I nearly laughed.

"My sister was kidnapped. Her son is missing. And you thought somebody following her might be normal?"

He looked away.

I wanted to hurt him with my words.

I wanted him to understand what it felt like to discover that the people you loved had been living entirely different lives.

But when a nurse finally appeared, every argument vanished.

"Family of Rebecca Hale?"

I stepped forward.

"I'm her sister."

The nurse checked her tablet.

"She's stable. The CT scan didn't show any bleeding inside her skull, but she has a concussion and needs observation."

I gripped the counter.

"Can I see her?"

"One visitor for now."

Eliam looked at me.

"Go."

I followed the nurse down a hallway.

Every step felt unreal.

I hadn't seen Rachel in nine years.

Now I was about to meet a woman who had survived almost a decade without me.

What would I say?

Would she be happy to see me?

Would she blame me?

Would she look at me and remember the last words I'd spoken before she disappeared?

Maybe Dad's right. Maybe you need help.

The nurse opened a curtain.

Rachel was lying in a hospital bed.

A white bandage covered her temple.

There was an IV in her arm.

Her face looked smaller than I remembered.

But it was her.

My sister.

I stepped closer.

"Rachel?"

Her eyelids fluttered.

For a moment, she stared without recognition.

Then her lips parted.

"Mara?"

I broke.

There was no graceful reunion.

No carefully prepared speech.

I reached for her hand and started crying so hard I could barely speak.

"You're alive."

Her eyes filled.

"I'm sorry."

I shook my head.

"Don't. Please don't say that."

"I'm so sorry, Mara."

I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around her carefully.

She made a small sound and held on.

For nine years, I'd dreamed about one more chance to hug her.

I had imagined what I would say if heaven gave me five minutes.

Now I had her back, and all I could do was cry.

Finally, she whispered, "I wanted to call you every day."

I pulled away.

"Then why didn't you?"

Her expression changed.

Fear entered her eyes.

"Because he made me believe you'd die if I did."

I felt my chest tighten.

"Dad?"

Rachel nodded.

"He knew how much you loved him. He knew you'd believe him."

"I believed him about everything."

"I know."

Her voice trembled.

"He made sure of that."

I sat beside her.

"Rachel, what happened today?"

She closed her eyes.

"Two men came into Harbor House."

"Who?"

"I didn't recognize them. One said he'd been sent by Oliver's school. He told me they had news."

"About Oliver?"

She nodded.

"I followed him into the back office. The other man was waiting."

Her breathing quickened.

"They wanted the documents."

"What documents?"

"The original inspection reports. The payment records. The recordings."

"Do you have them?"

"Some."

"Where?"

She shook her head.

"I can't tell you here."

I glanced toward the doorway.

"Why?"

She gripped my wrist.

"Because the last time I trusted a hospital employee, Dad found me within forty-eight hours."

I stared at her.

"What?"

"He has friends everywhere, Mara."

I wanted to tell her she was exaggerating.

But I couldn't.

Not anymore.

"Rachel, Eliam told me about Oliver."

Her face crumpled.

"My baby."

I squeezed her hand.

"We're going to find him."

"You don't understand."

"Then help me understand."

She looked around the room.

Then whispered, "Oliver didn't disappear because I had evidence."

I frowned.

"Why did he disappear?"

"Because of who his father is."

I felt a strange pressure behind my eyes.

"Who's his father?"

Rachel swallowed.

"Samuel Ortiz."

The dead safety inspector.

The man Eliam said had been murdered after threatening to testify.

I stared at her.

"How?"

"Samuel and I were together before he died. Nobody knew. Dad made sure his name disappeared from everything."

"But Oliver is seven."

"Samuel died eight years ago. I found out I was pregnant a few weeks afterward."

She wiped her eyes.

"Oliver is the only living person who can prove a connection between Samuel and me."

"How would that matter?"

"Samuel left an encrypted archive with instructions that it be released to his child when the child reached a certain age. I didn't know about it until last month."

"Who has the archive?"

"An attorney handling Samuel's estate."

I leaned closer.

"And Dad found out?"

"Someone told him."

Her expression hardened.

"He wants to know what's inside before anyone else sees it."

I felt anger rising.

My father had taken almost everything from Rachel.

Her name.

Her family.

Her safety.

Now he'd taken her child.

"Does Eliam know who Oliver's father is?"

"Yes."

I looked down.

Another secret.

Rachel watched me.

"He wanted to tell you."

"Apparently he never wanted it badly enough."

Her eyes filled with regret.

"Mara..."

"No. Don't defend him."

I stood.

"I love you. I am so grateful you're alive. But I'm not going to pretend what the two of you did to me was okay."

She lowered her eyes.

"You're right."

Those two words hurt more than any excuse would have.

I turned toward the door.

Then Rachel grabbed my hand again.

"Wait."

I looked back.

"There's something you need to know about Mom."

I sat slowly.

Rachel stared at the blanket.

"The night before she died, she came into my room. She was crying. She gave me her necklace and said that if anything happened to her, I should find the yellow recipe book."

My heart began pounding.

"Mom's recipe book?"

Rachel nodded.

"She said everything was inside it."

I pictured our mother's kitchen.

The flour-covered countertop.

Her handwriting.

The faded yellow binder she used every Thanksgiving.

After her death, Dad had packed away most of her belongings.

I'd managed to keep only a few boxes.

One of them sat in our basement.

"Rachel, are you telling me Mom knew she was going to die?"