Becoming strangers again (Lily and Ryan)

LILY

Seated in her modest living room, I couldn't help but fixate on the photograph of a little girl perched on what appeared to be a makeshift TV console. The frame stood out-its presence commanding attention despite the clutter around it.

The girl's innocent smile, frozen in time, radiated an almost unbearable tenderness. Was this the child she had done everything for? The one who justified her every action, no matter how unforgivable?

A thought crept into my mind, unwelcome and jagged: What if she did it all for the sake of her sick daughter? Could she have sacrificed my three sons just to save her one daughter? The notion was unthinkable, not only senseless but monstrously cruel. What kind of mother could make that trade? What kind of person could even consider it?

I folded my arms tightly across my chest, the gesture more to steady myself than anything else.

My gaze remained locked on the photograph, as though it could somehow provide answers to questions that had no right to exist.

The room felt stifling, each second stretching uncomfortably, until the sharp metallic click of a lock being turned shattered the silence.

The door began to ease open, and I instinctively glanced at the security officer who had accompanied me. His posture stiffened instantly. His hand hovered near his hip.

But I wasn't afraid. Not really. I didn't believe she would do anything reckless. Not now. Not when her daughter's fragile world depended on this home, this space remaining intact.

Surely, if she had even a shred of decency left, she wouldn't destroy what little stability her daughter had. At least, that's what I told myself. Because if she didn't care-not even for her own child-then what kind of monster had I come face to face with?

The door creaked open, and she stepped inside, clutching the hand of a little girl who couldn't have been more than eight.

Her face immediately froze when her eyes landed on me, seated comfortably in her living room with the young man I'd brought along.

Fear flickered across her features, her gaze darting between us, searching for answers or maybe an escape route.

"Who are you, and what do you want?"

Was she serious? Did she genuinely not recognize me, or was this some pathetic attempt to play dumb? I leaned back, letting the moment stretch. "Get your daughter inside. It's cold out there."

Her eyes narrowed, darting over to Neo, who stood silently beside me. "You don't actually expect me to bring my child into a house with two strangers, do you?" she retorted, her tone defensive, as if she had any ground to stand on.

I uncrossed my legs deliberately, my gaze settling on the child she held so tightly. Her little face looked pale, unsure, her free hand clutching at the hem of her mother's coat. "I think you're scaring the child right now," I said, pointing at the girl. "Besides, I'm not really a stranger. We've met before." I allowed my words to hang for a moment before continuing, "And I'm pretty sure you've seen me on the news."

Her face faltered, but she didn't move.

I gestured toward the girl, my patience slipping. "Look, I'm only keeping this civil because of her," I said, my voice cold. "But if you stand there much longer, pissing me off, I'm going to lose my cool. And trust me, you don't want that."

She hesitated, her grip on the child's hand tightening briefly before she exhaled and gently nudged her forward. "Go on, sweetheart," she murmured softly, crouching down to the little girl's level. "Go to your room while Mummy talks with the visitors."

The girl nodded, her wide, wary eyes flitting between the three of us before she turned and quietly slipped into one of the back rooms, the door clicking shut behind her.

Camilla straightened, smoothing her skirt with trembling hands before sitting across from me. She tucked her knees together, her posture defensive. "What do you want?"

I leaned forward slightly, keeping my gaze fixed on her. "The perfume you gave Clover-it has something in it, and I know it," I said bluntly, watching her reaction closely. Her brows knit together in confusion, but I pressed on. "And let me make one thing clear-I won't stop until I prove it."

Camilla cleared her throat, her hands fidgeting in her lap. "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about," she muttered. "Who is Clover?"

The audacity of her feigned ignorance set my blood boiling. I clenched my fists. "Are you seriously playing this game with me right now?" I hissed. "Do you even understand the repercussions of working with someone who abducted my children?"

Her eyes widened. "Sincerely," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "I don't know what you're talking about."

The way she stared at me, her gaze full of feigned innocence, only fueled my fury.

Is this about money? "I know your daughter is sick," I rasped, the words catching in my throat. "I'm willing to give you enough money for her treatment. More than that I'll help you relocate, hide from Clover, and start over. I'll give you and your daughter a better life."

I could feel the sting of humiliation

creeping in, but I swallowed every ounce of pride left in me. Dropping to my knees, I clasped my hands together as if in prayer. "Please," begged, my voice breaking under the strain. "I need you to tell me

everything you know about what happened that day. I need to find my children, and you're the only lead I have right now."

For a moment, she didn't move, her expression unreadable. Then, with surprising gentleness, she got up from her seat and bent down. Placing her hands on my shoulders, she guided me back to my feet?" honestly don't know what you're talking about," she said softly. "If you can just calm down and explain things clearly to me, maybe I can help you."

Could she really not remember? Or was this yet another of her facade? My breathing steadied as I studied her face. "You delivered a brown envelope," I said slowly, "to a driver near Hill Taste restaurant a few weeks ago. It contained perfume." I paused, narrowing my eyes. "Do you remember it now?"

She blinked slowly, her gaze distant, as if sifting through her memory.

Her eyes suddenly widened. "I remember now," she said abruptly. "The driver... he had a woman and three boys in the back of the car."

"Yes," I said, nodding. "Don't you watch the news?" I pressed, my tone sharper than I intended. How could she act so oblivious? The story of my missing boys had been plastered across every channel, every headline. And yet, here she was, looking genuinely perplexed, as if she hadn't seen any of it.

Camilla shook her head. "I don't watch the news," she replied, her voice soft. "My daughter and my work keep me busy all the time. I barely have time to breathe, let alone keep up with the world."

Her explanation should have sounded like an excuse, but something about her tone gave me pause. Against my better judgment, I decided to believe her if only for now.

"Well," I began, my voice tightening with restrained emotion, "after I inhaled the perfume you delivered to Clover that day, I blacked out. When I woke up in the hospital, my boys were gone. Missing." I swallowed hard, forcing the lump in my throat back down. "And to this day, I haven't heard anything about them. Not a single word."

Her eyes widened even further, and

for a moment, she seemed genuinely shaken. "I'm so sorry to hear that, she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I'm just a delivery lady," she added quickly, almost defensively. "That day, I was called to drop something off at a black SUV. The plate number was already written out for me. I didn't think

much of it."

She paused, her gaze dropping to the floor as though searching for the right words. "All I can do now is give you the name and address of the person who handed me the envelope to deliver. I hope it can help you." "Of course, it would," I said, my tone clipped, though not unkind.

Camilla stood and walked toward the makeshift TV console. She picked up a small notebook and pen, flipping through the pages before jotting something down. Tearing out the page, she walked back and handed it to me. "I hope you find your boys," she said, her voice heavy with sincerity.

I glanced down at the paper, reading the neatly written name and address. It wasn't much, but it was a lead.