Chapter 8: A Voice From the Past

A week later, the investigator called.

"I found her."

Clara's heart jumped. "Rosalind?"

"She's alive. Retired. Living in a small cottage two hours out of the city. She doesn't talk to many people. Seems paranoid."

"I need her address."

"Are you sure? She might not—"

"I'm sure."

---

The next day, Elara made the trip herself. No security. No chauffeur. Just her and the storm still clinging to the skies.

The cottage was weather-worn, nestled between overgrown trees and the faint hum of a creek. She knocked once. Then again.

The door creaked open.

An older woman peeked through—a lined face, silver-streaked hair, and guarded eyes.

"Who are you?" she rasped.

"My name is Clara Lockwood," she said. "You knew me once. As a baby."

Rosalind's face paled.

"You shouldn't be here."

"I need answers."

"You think I have them?" Her voice cracked. "I tried to stop it. No one believed me."

Clara stepped forward. "I believe you now."

That changed everything.

Rosalind opened the door wider. "Then come inside. And I'll tell you what they never wanted you to hear."

---

Inside, the air smelled of dust and secrets.

Rosalind poured tea with trembling hands. "You were taken," she said. "Switched after birth. Someone inside the hospital was paid off.They were paid to take you away. You weren't just adopted—you were stolen."

"By the Quinns?"

"No. The Quinns were just the middlemen. There was someone else. A Lockwood. Your uncle."

Clara's stomach turned.

"Adam's father?"

Rosalind nodded. "He wanted his own son to inherit everything. Not you. You were a threat the moment you were born."

Clara sat down slowly.

"You knew this, and said nothing."

"I tried," Rosalind whispered. "But I was fired. Threatened. I ran."

Clara's chest tightened. All these years… she had grown up unloved, unwanted, because of greed. Jealousy. Family.

And now that she was back, they were still trying to erase her.In their dreams.

Rosalind reached for her hand. "Be careful, child. You've stirred up more than old ghosts."

Clara looked out the window, toward the rain-laced forest.

"No," she said softly. "I woke them up. Now I'm going to bury them."

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