I grab Amber's diary. It feels heavier in my hand, like it knows what I'm about to discover. I carry it into the living room, hoping to find more clues in the entries, especially anything that hints at the baby's gender. Depending on how far along she was, she might have written something about it. Settling onto the couch, I flip through the many pages, scanning each one with growing anticipation. Eventually, one catches my eye. I inhale sharply, running my hand along the page and begin reading.
Dear Diary,
It's been three months since I told Andy about the baby and two days since I broke the news to my parents. My dad is still furious and has forbidden me from seeing him, convinced that his family is no good. I tried to explain to him that I love Andy, but my words fell on deaf ears. Thankfully, my mom has been a source of comfort to me and even seems excited to have a grandchild. She's been accompanying me to all of my obstetrician appointments, which I'm grateful for.
Yesterday's appointment was an amazing experience. They did an ultrasound of the baby, and seeing it was surreal. The tiny being looked like a little peanut, but I could make out its itty-bitty arms, legs, hands, and feet. The ultrasound technician was confident that it was a girl, and I hope he's right because Andy and I have already picked out the perfect name for her. We plan to name her Roxanne Brinley Dawson and get married before she is born.
Despite our parents' disapproval, Andy and I are determined more than ever to be together and raise our child as a loving family. Andy doesn't want to tell his parents about the baby because he feels uncomfortable with them. His dad is hard on him, and he's afraid he will ruin our relationship. However, I'm confident that we can overcome any obstacle together. I wish I could tell Andy we are having a girl; I know he will be as over-the-moon as I am.
I can't wait to be a mother, marry Andy, and start our life together, even if we must sneak around until we escape our families. I will find a way to be with him. Our parents can't keep us apart forever, and we will fight for our love and our little girl.
As always, thanks for listening, diary.
My breath leaves me in a rush. "Holy shit! Amber Catalano has to be my mom. There's no way this is a coincidence." I jump from the couch and pace around the room with frantic energy. This has to be the connection. The name they picked for their baby girl is mine; the last name is different, but the first and middle names are the same.
This could be my family home. My mother might have grown up here. The walls around me suddenly feel alive, humming with memories I never knew belonged to me. I clutch the diary to my chest, my mind races as my heart fills with hope. I need to determine if Andy is my biological father or if he is even still alive. I suspect Amber's parents are gone, but what about her siblings? It's safe to say that if she escaped, they could have also. If Samuel, Betty, and Donovan did, where are they now? How did they survive what happened here? If Amber is my mom, why didn't they try to find us? Why did she hide everything? More questions. Always more questions and no answers.
Once the excitement starts to drain from my limbs, I sink onto the couch, still clutching the diary, and turn on a movie to distract myself until Zeke gets home. The screen flickers, casting a soft light across the room. A yawn escapes me, and I grab the thick gray blanket draped over the back of the couch. I snuggle into its warmth and start to doze off.
Somewhere in the haze of sleep, someone calls my name, but it sounds far away. The voice is soft but persistent, and my shoulder is being shaken gently. My eyes flutter open to see Zeke standing over me, smiling.
"Hey, wake up, sleepyhead," he says. "You always fall asleep before I get home. I made dinner while you were sleeping." That wakes me up fast, and my stomach growls loudly. Zeke chuckles at the sound. I sit up slowly and remember the diary, but it's no longer in my hand. Panic seizes me. I start to search around the sofa, reaching under cushions until my fingers brush against the familiar leather cover. Relief floods through me. I grab it and place it on the coffee table. Zeke takes my hand and leads me into the kitchen. During dinner, I tell him everything I learned from the diary.
"Z, you will never believe what I found in the journal today."
"Uh-oh, is it good or bad?" He says, looking up from his plate.
"A little of both," I admit. "Mostly a case of mixed emotions for me." I quickly explain the entry to him: the ultrasound, the baby's gender, the name, the plan to run away with and marry Andy.
His eyes widen. "So, this amber and your mother may be the same person for sure. Wow, that's crazy. I thought it was a stretch, but now I'm curious too."
"As I was going through papers in the home office, I found a file on this Andy guy," I say, my tone heavy. "But I'm scared to find information about him with the threatening letter and Sheriff Dawson being his father."
"Rocky, I will do everything I can to help you find information on Andrew Dawson, and there's a way to find out if he and Amber are your parents," he says.
"How?" I ask, curious.
"We can ask him for a DNA test," he states. His words settle over me like a lifeline, and I nod.
The next few days blur together as we work relentlessly in our free time to gather as much information as possible about Andrew Dawson. We search the internet, library, and town hall archives. We dig through old newspapers, property records, and anything that might give us a clue. Despite our exhaustive search, we can only confirm one thing: Andrew Dawson is still alive because we didn't find any death records, obituaries, or memorials anywhere. He's out there somewhere.
We sit in the office with the limited information we found, deep in thought, trying to figure out Andy's whereabouts. The air feels charged with tension. Suddenly, a loud banging on the front door jolts us out of our conversation. We both jump.
"Damn it, that scared the crap out of me," Zeke mutters under his breath as he gets up and heads toward the door.
Curious and apprehensive, I follow behind him. My heartbeat speeds up as we approach the door. Our footsteps echo through the hallway, each one louder than it should be. Zeke swings the door open. Sheriff Dawson stands there looking furious. His gaze locks onto me. It's sharp, hateful, and accusing. It makes my stomach drop.
"S-s-sheriff Dawson, what are you doing here?" I stammer with a shaky voice.
"I came to ask why the hell you are digging into my son Andrew?" He yells.
Zeke steps forward. We are only trying to find information because he dated one of the daughters who lived here."
"Who gives a crap if he dated one of them? And why the hell does it matter? My son had nothing to do with what happened to them." He doesn't give us a chance to reply to him; he just kept ranting and yelling. His face turns redder with each word. I've had enough of this.
"Sheriff Dawson, stop yelling!" I scream. Both men turned to me. "We are just trying to figure out why the family disappeared," I say, forcing calm in my voice. "For our own peace of mind. I'm sure they just fled because of taxes or something. This research is for my own peace of mind. That's all." It's a lie, but he doesn't need to know that.
"I don't care what your reason is," he snaps. "Put a stop to it right now. You need to quit looking into this family. Nothing good can come from it." His words sound familiar to me. Too familiar. They echo the threatening letter taped to my door. My instincts scream at me to get him out of here.
"Okay," I say. "We will stop looking into your son." I watch him closely. Some of the tension leaves his body. He seems pleased with my answer. Zeke looks at me like I've lost my mind, but I'm just diffusing the situation.
The sheriff wasn't done; he leans towards me, his voice low and menacing. "I hope you do, little girl. Stop looking into the family. It's the last time I'm warning you. This will not end well for you."
I stare at him, not willing to back down to his intimidation tactic. So much for diffusing the situation; he just pissed me off by treating me like a kid. He was a bully like any other in my life, and I wasn't going to let him get the best of me.
"I'm not a little girl." My voice is as sweet as honey, even though I was seething in anger. "You have a nice night, Sheriff."
"What the hell was that all about, Rocky? And why did you agree to quit looking for Andrew?" Zeke asks.
"Don't worry," I say. "I just said that to get him out of here. I have no intention of stopping my search for Andrew. Especially because he could be my father."
Zeke locks the door, and we head back to the living room. Sitting on the couch, Zeke joins me and eases into the warm cushions. Wrapping his arm around my shoulder, he pulls me into his side, and I lean into him, letting his warmth surround me.
"Just be careful. The sheriff has already painted a target on your back. I'm scared every time I'm not with you," he stated.
"Don't worry, I know," I whispered. "But I'm not stopping." We spend the rest of the night watching TV, though neither of us is really paying attention.
The next morning, a heavy feeling sits in my stomach. It refuses to go away. I try to shake it off, but it clings to me like a shadow. Zeke is already in the living room drinking coffee when I enter.
"Hello, handsome," I say. "What's on the agenda for today?"
"I thought we could work on the kitchen," he replies, "We can start replacing the cabinets."
"Sounds like a plan," I say.
I headed to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. As I reach for my cup on the counter, it moves fast, sliding away from my hand and crashing onto the floor near my feet. It shatters into pieces. I jump back, my heart pounding.
Zeke runs in. "What was that? Are you okay?" He asks.
"I'm fine," I say. "The cup just flew off the counter," I whisper, still trying to understand what just happened or if my mind is playing tricks on me.
He looks at me and then at the broken pieces. Concern shadows his features. We clean up, then work steadily on the kitchen, both lost in thought. The hours fly. Zeke watches me carefully, always staying close. He knew my favorite part is the demolition, but he also knows I tend to get carried away. Removing the old cabinets is easier than expected. He went behind me, making sure every screw and bolt is removed before moving on to the next one. Zeke was very thorough. We make a good team, complementing each other's strengths and weaknesses.
By nightfall, we are exhausted. We decide we are too tired to make dinner and decide to have something delivered. There were only two options to pick from: subs or pizza; we decided on subs and salads. Walking to the living room, I collapse onto the couch, my head sinking lazily onto the soft cushions. Today took its toll on me, leaving me completely drained. Zeke sits beside me, equally drained.
"How are you feeling, baby?" He asks gently. "You doing ok?"
"I'm okay," I say softly. "Just feeling sleepy." I tilt my head toward him and kiss his lips. He pauses, surprised, then kisses me back. Warmth spreads through me, but the moment shatters. Loud popping noises echo through the house. The sound is sharp, violent, and feels wrong. We both freeze. Our night is about to become a nightmare.