Page 29

“He’s not going to do that either!” Caleb shouts at my back as I walk upstairs to my room. Ten minutes later, I’m sitting at my desk, still in my robe, when he comes into the room.

“Okay, I’m leaving,” he informs me, and I look over my shoulder at him coming to me.

“Yeah, you said that already,” I remind him.

“I know, but I didn’t get a proper goodbye.” He bends his head and kisses the ever-loving fuck out of me. “Now, it’s goodbye.” He winks before he walks out of the room, and a couple of minutes later, I’m touching my lips where his kiss still lingers.

I don’t have a chance to sit around and think about it when my phone rings, and I see it’s my mother calling. “Hey, Mom,” I answer, putting the phone on speaker as I get up and walk to my closet to get dressed.

“Hey, sweetheart, did I catch you at a bad time?” she asks.

“No, just getting ready for the day.”

“What have you been up to?” she asks, and I can tell she’s nervous about the question.

“I’ve met the fire chief on duty where I was left. I also did a DNA test and found out that my great-great-great-grandfather had twelve children, so that will be a big family tree to work through.” I don’t tell her about the note telling me to stop searching, not really wanting to worry her.

“No closer relatives?” Her voice is soft and she sounds sad for me.

“Sadly, no,” I reply, slipping on a pair of loose jeans, then searching for a shirt and finally grabbing a long-sleeved cream one.

“I do have a list of hospitals and private clinics in the area, and I think I’m going to reach out to them. I had to have been born somewhere.”

“I’m just worried,” she confesses to me. “I don’t want you to get hurt or feel like you aren’t wanted or loved.” I hear her sniffle.

“I’ve been thinking about it the past couple of days”—I pick up the phone—“and just because I find my birth parents doesn’t mean I have to go and meet them. Maybe it’s going to be okay just knowing that I know.”

“Whatever you decide to do,” she encourages, “we will be there supporting your every move.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I close my eyes. “I love you.”

“Not as much as I love you,” she returns with a lightness to her voice.

The conversation doesn’t last much longer since one of my clients calls me. I work past lunch, and finally, at three o’clock, I take out the pad of paper I made with private clinics on it first.

Two of the four are out of business, so I will make a note to see if I can find any information about them before I dial the third.

The receptionist answers with a cheery voice.

“Hi, I’m wondering if you could help me,” I say, nervously tapping my finger on my desk.

“I was given up for adoption twenty-five years ago and was wondering if you had any records of births from that year.”

“Those are confidential,” she says, “but you can go to the county office and ask for the records.”

“Thank you so much,” I reply and disconnect the phone with her, searching up the county records office and then dialing the number.

I listen to the woman answer the phone before I speak, “Hi, I was wondering how I would be able to get the birth records from September twenty-fifth, twenty-five years ago.”

“You make your request through email,” she answers. “It might take a day or so for someone to get back to you.” She goes on to give me the email address, and by the time we hang up, the email has already been sent.

The phone rings as soon as I hang up with her, and I see it’s Caleb. “Hey,” I say, putting the phone to my ear.

“Hey,” he replies and I hear the truck door slam. “I got an emergency call and I might be really late.”

“Oh no.” I try not to sound disappointed. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, there’s flooding in someone’s basement, so we have to head over there and drain it,” he explains. “Not sure how long I’ll be.”

“Why don’t you do what you need to do and then go home, and we’ll see each other tomorrow?”

He groans, “I don’t want to, but I also don’t want you waiting up for me.” I smile. “I’ll come by tomorrow morning bright and early.”

“Oh goodie,” I joke with him, “I can’t wait.” I hang up the phone and decide to make a frozen pizza and get into bed.

I drift off to sleep around ten, maybe even earlier.

I don’t even know how long I’ve been asleep before the sound of a window breaking wakes me up, and then the sound of a thud on the floor.

I throw the covers off me as I get up and slip my pink slippers on, grabbing my phone and rushing to the stairs.

The front window has a huge hole in it, and when I look into the empty room, I see a brown object in the middle of it.

My legs move before my head can stop them, shaking as I make my way to the object, seeing it’s a rock when I get closer.

My hand comes out and picks it up, seeing the words “LEAVE” spray-painted in red.

The rock falls out of my hand and lands with a thud in the middle of the floor where I just picked it up from.

My hands shake as I pull up his number and call him right away. He answers after half a ring. “Sierra,” he says my name, with worry in his voice.

“They threw—” My voice hitches. “Someone threw a rock through my window.”