Page 104 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

“What’s your doll’s name?”

“Emily Dolly.”

“She’s very pretty.”

Callie clutched the stuffed doll closer.

“Do you know your daddy’s name?”

Callie shook her head.

“What about your mommy’s?”

Callie nodded.

“What is it?”

“Mommy,” she said with a small smile.

“What do grown-ups call her?”

“Callie’s mommy.” The sweet girl’s big blue eyes filled with tears as her bottom lip started trembling. “I want my mommy.” Sniffling, she pressed her face into her dolly’s yarn hair and curled up on the chair.

Nate swore when the video ended, as sick this time as he had been the dozen other times he’d watched the footage taken while Callie had been under social services’ supervision. It was easy to see why the adorable little girl had captivated the nation. She sure as hell broke his heart. “Damn,” he repeated as he scrubbed at his face, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that the child in the video was the same woman sleeping in his bed upstairs. Callie had kept important details about her life from him, but so many things now made sense. It was hardly a wonder that she had abandonment issues. The fact that she was a generally well-adjusted, emotionally healthy adult was a testament to her adoptive family’s love and care.

He glanced at the upload date on the video—six years—then scrolled through the comments section, where people still left their thoughts as recently as yesterday. There were heartfelt prayers for the child and disdain for the parents who had abandoned her, but among the well wishes and messages of hate was the constant question: what happened to Little Girl Lost? If only they knew she’d grown up to be a world-famous artist and current vacationer/resident of a tiny Massachusetts island.

Flipping to a new screen, he typed in “updates on Little Girl Lost”. Within seconds, his page was full of links in which the media speculated on her whereabouts and potential sightings throughout the years, but there was nothing concrete for them to sink their teeth into. “Good,” he mumbled and looked at his list again. If Callie was the child in the picture, she’d been on Carter Island. Now he needed to confirm the date of the photo and figure out why she’d been watching a parade in Sanderson, Massachusetts, on July 4, 1995, and ended up alone in Hartford, Connecticut, on July 5.

He glanced up when he heard footsteps starting his way. “Hey, sleepy.”

“Hi.” Callie smiled, sliding her fingers through her tousled hair. “I reached for you and you weren’t there.”

He clicked to his screen saver as she rounded the desk. “I was catching up on some work.” He pulled her into his lap.

She snuggled up, resting her head on his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I thought maybe you’d gone out on a call, but then I remembered you’re off tonight.”

He settled his cheek on her forehead and caressed the soft skin of her leg. “For the next few hours.”

“Mmm,” she said before she yawned.

“Should we go up and get some sleep?”

“Yes.” She yawned again. “I don’t seem to rest well without you beside me anymore.”

That was the best thing he’d heard all day. “Come on. Let’s go catch some z’s.” He lifted her in his arms and walked with her down the hall in the dark, ready to do whatever needed to be done to give Callie a little peace.