Chapter 8 - THE CHILD THEY CALLED ABIGAIL
Her name was Abigail Grayson.
She loved horses.
She hated tomatoes.
She read two grades above her level.
She believed Paul and Amanda Grayson were her biological parents.
Amanda may not have known the adoption was illegal.
Paul almost certainly did.
Bank records showed he paid Lorraine seventy-five thousand dollars three days after Isabel’s birth.
The payment was labeled consulting services.
Daniel received twenty thousand dollars.
The remainder went to the clinic director.
I sat in silence while Agent Bell explained.
My first daughter had lived seven years less than two hours away.
I had mourned her every day.
Daniel had watched me.
Lorraine had listened while I blamed my body.
They knew Isabel was alive.
Officer Holloway asked whether I wanted to meet her.
The question broke me.
“Yes.”
Then I shook my head.
“No.”
“I don’t know.”
“She has parents.”
“She has a life.”
“What if seeing me destroys her?”
Agent Bell leaned forward.
“No decision will be made quickly.”
“First, we need to establish the facts.”
DNA testing required a court order.
Paul Grayson fought it immediately.
He claimed the accusation was political retaliation.
He accused me of trying to steal his daughter.
His attorney released the forged adoption agreement.
Reporters began repeating the lie that I had willingly given Isabel away.
Daniel appeared on a local radio show.
“Elena regretted the adoption.”
“She has always been emotionally unstable.”
“She now wants to punish everyone.”
I listened once.
Then I turned it off.
That afternoon, the judge ordered temporary preservation of Abigail’s custody arrangement.
She would remain with Amanda.
Paul could not remove her from Texas.
He was suspended from the prosecutor’s office pending investigation.
The DNA test was scheduled.
I stood outside the courthouse with Officer Holloway when Amanda approached.
She looked like she had not slept.
“You are Elena?”
“Yes.”
She stared at my face.
Then at the photographs of Sophie and Mia inside my folder.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Abigail looks like them.”
I did not know what to say.
Amanda opened her purse.
She removed a hospital bracelet.
The name printed on it was Baby Girl Mercer.
“I found this in Paul’s safe last night.”
My knees weakened.
Amanda caught my arm.
“I swear I did not know.”
“He told me her mother had died.”
I began crying.
“So did they.”
Amanda held the bracelet between us.
“Paul wants me to leave the state.”
“I won’t.”
“Why are you helping me?”
She looked toward the courthouse.
“Because if Abigail was stolen from you, then every day I loved her was built on someone else’s crime.”
Before I could answer, a truck accelerated from the curb.
It jumped onto the sidewalk.
May you like
Amanda pushed me away.
The vehicle struck her.
