Chapter 5: Reality 2 — Lily

Emma's sneakers slapped against the cracked pavement as she hurried through the unfamiliar streets, the crumpled note from Lily clutched in her hand. The words—"Don't follow me. I can handle it. L"—burned in her mind, each letter a tether pulling her forward. The city around her was alien: narrow alleys, graffiti-streaked walls, and the distant hum of traffic. Her heart pounded, not just from the chase but from the ache of Ethan's absence, his words still ringing: "You're always leaving, Mom." And Noah's eerie whisper: "You'll see them in Paris." She shook her head, forcing herself to focus. Lily was out here, somewhere, and Emma couldn't lose another child.

The note had given one clue: a scribbled address in the margin, smudged but legible. It led her to a derelict building on the edge of town, its windows boarded, the air thick with the scent of damp concrete and rust. Emma hesitated at the entrance, her breath shallow. The door hung ajar, and muffled voices echoed from inside—teenagers, laughing, shouting. She pushed through, her eyes adjusting to the dim light.

Lily stood in the center of a group of kids, her gray hoodie stark against the shadowed walls. She was arguing with a taller boy, her voice sharp, her hands balled into fists. "I told you, I don't owe you anything!" she snapped, shoving him back. The boy laughed, but there was a cruel edge to it.

"Lily!" Emma's voice cut through the noise, and the group turned, their eyes narrowing. Lily's face flushed with anger, then embarrassment, as she spotted Emma.

"What are you doing here?" Lily hissed, stepping away from the group. "I told you not to follow me!"

Emma ignored the stares, closing the distance between them. "You're not safe here, Lily. Come home." She reached out, but Lily jerked back, her eyes blazing.

"You're not my mom," Lily said, her voice low, venomous. "Stop acting like you care."

The words hit like a slap, but Emma's gaze caught on something else—bruises, faint but unmistakable, blooming on Lily's forearms as her sleeves rode up. Emma's stomach twisted, her medical instincts kicking in. "Lily, what happened to your arms?" she asked, her voice softening, urgent.

Lily yanked her sleeves down, her scowl deepening. "Nothing. Leave me alone." But her voice wavered, and she glanced at the other kids, who were now whispering among themselves.

Emma's mind raced. Bruises could mean anything—fights, abuse, or something worse. She thought of Ethan's rebellion, Noah's isolation, and now Lily's defiance. Each child felt like a piece of her, yet so distant. She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Lily, I'm not leaving without you. Whatever's going on, I can help."

Lily's eyes flickered with something—fear, maybe, or a flicker of trust—but it vanished quickly. "You don't get it," she muttered, turning away. "I can handle it."

Before Emma could press further, the tall boy stepped forward, his smirk gone. "You heard her, lady. Get lost." He moved closer, towering over Emma, but she stood her ground, her maternal resolve outweighing her fear.

"Back off," she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "She's coming with me."

The boy hesitated, then laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Fine. She's your problem." He waved to the group, and they scattered, disappearing into the shadows of the building.

Lily glared at Emma, her fists still clenched. "You're embarrassing me," she said, but her voice cracked, and she didn't resist when Emma gently took her arm, guiding her toward the door.

Outside, the air was cooler, the sky darkening with the threat of rain. Emma kept her hand on Lily's shoulder, feeling the tension in her slight frame. "Lily, talk to me. Those bruises—what happened?"

Lily pulled away, crossing her arms. "It's just school stuff, okay? Kids are jerks. I got in a fight. No big deal." But her eyes darted away, and Emma caught the lie, the way Lily's fingers fidgeted with the edge of her hoodie.

"A fight?" Emma pressed, her voice gentle but firm. "Lily, you don't have to hide this. I'm here."

Lily's shoulders slumped, and for a moment, she looked younger, vulnerable. "You wouldn't understand," she said, almost a whisper. "You don't even know me."

Emma's heart ached, torn between the daughter in front of her and the son she'd left at the police station, the boy sketching stars in another house. "I want to know you," she said, her voice breaking. "I'm trying."

Lily didn't respond, but she didn't pull away when Emma led her back to the car. As they drove home, the silence was heavy, broken only by the hum of the engine. Emma's mind churned with questions—about Lily's bruises, Ethan's girlfriend, Noah's stars. She glanced at Lily, who stared out the window, her face half-hidden by her hoodie.

When they pulled into the driveway, Lily reached for the door but paused, her hand lingering on the handle. "I didn't mean to run," she said quietly, not looking at Emma. "I just… I needed to get away."

Emma nodded, her throat tight. "I know," she said, though she didn't fully understand—not yet. As Lily slipped out of the car, Emma noticed something fall from her pocket—a small, folded piece of paper, like the note from earlier. She picked it up, her fingers trembling as she unfolded it. It wasn't the same note. This one was older, worn, the ink faded but still legible: "Stay strong, Lily. You're not alone. —E."

Emma's breath caught. E. Ethan? The name sent a jolt through her, a connection she couldn't place. She looked up, but Lily was already halfway to the house, her silhouette framed by the porch light. Emma clutched the note, her mind spinning. Who was writing to Lily? And why did it feel like her children were slipping through her fingers, even as she fought to hold them close?