Chapter 4 - The Child Who Was Never Buried
The search consumed three days.
Augustine used every contact he possessed.
Hospitals.
Private clinics.
Insurance companies.
State records.
Military archives.
Nothing.
No death certificate.
No burial record.
No cremation.
No transfer documented in any ordinary database.
Then Wendell found something.
A billing code.
A pediatric emergency account opened six years earlier under a false patient number.
The date matched Juny's disappearance.
The location was an abandoned private clinic outside Boston.
Mave looked at the document.
“Take me there.”
Augustine went with her.
The clinic stood behind a row of warehouses.
The sign had been removed.
The windows were boarded.
Inside, dust covered the floor.
Mave walked through the corridor.
She stopped.
“There.”
Augustine followed her gaze.
A faded height chart still hung on the wall.
Mave walked toward it.
One section contained pencil marks.
JUNY.
Three letters.
The writing looked childish.
Mave touched the wall.
“No.”
She turned away.
Then she heard it.
A tiny sound.
Metal rolling across tile.
Augustine looked down.
A red toy car had rolled from an open doorway.
Mave stopped breathing.
The car had one missing wheel.
Juny’s favorite toy had one missing wheel.
She had carried it everywhere.
Mave entered the room.
On the floor was a photograph.
A little girl sat in a chair.
Her face was turned sideways.
But Mave knew the sweater.
She had knitted it herself.
“Juny.”
Her voice broke.
Augustine did not touch her.
She walked closer.
Then a man appeared in the doorway.
He was old.
Thin.
Terrified.
“You came too late.”
Mave turned.
“Where is she?”
He looked at Augustine.
“She was moved.”
“By whom?”
“People who said they were doctors.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
Mave stepped toward him.
“You knew my daughter.”
“I treated her.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
The old man swallowed.
“She was alive when she left.”
Mave's knees weakened.
“Why would they take her?”
He looked at the cracked floor.
“She had a blood condition. They said the child could be useful.”
“Useful?”
“They believed somebody would pay for a compatible donor.”
Mave stared.
“What did you say?”
The doctor looked ashamed.
“The family behind it had money.”
Augustine’s eyes darkened.
“Which family?”
The doctor hesitated.
“Blaine.”
Everything became still.
Mave turned toward Augustine.
Cordelia.
The doctor continued.
“Not Cordelia personally. Her father’s people. They needed a donor for a relative. They took children from hospitals and moved them through private facilities.”
Augustine spoke quietly.
“How many?”
“I don't know.”
“Where were they sent?”
“Some went overseas.”
Mave covered her mouth.
“Juny?”
The doctor pointed to a ledger.
“She was marked for transfer.”
“Where?”
“Newport.”
Mave froze.
Newport.
The world had just become much smaller.
The person who had laughed at her in Ashgrove had been standing beside her daughter's secret for months.
Cordelia.
Back at Ashgrove, Cordelia poured herself wine.
Augustine entered the room.
She smiled.
“Why do you look so serious?”
“Where is your father?”
Cordelia raised an eyebrow.
“In New York.”
“Lie.”
Her smile disappeared.
Augustine placed a photograph on the table.
The height chart.
The toy car.
The ledger.
Cordelia stared.
“I don't know what those are.”
“You know.”
“No.”
“Mave’s daughter.”
Cordelia stood.
“I told you, I don't know.”
Augustine stepped closer.
“Your father’s organization moved children through private clinics.”
Her lips parted.
“That was years ago.”
Silence.
“You knew.”
“I knew there were arrangements.”
“For what?”
“Medical donations.”
“You stole children.”
Cordelia’s face hardened.
“You think you’re clean?”
He stared at her.
She laughed bitterly.
“You think everyone in your family is innocent?”
Augustine's voice became colder.
“This is not about my family.”
“It is always about family.”
Cordelia walked toward him.
“You want the truth?”
“Yes.”
“Juny Callan was not the only child.”
“What happened to her?”
Cordelia swallowed.
“She was sent to a woman in Connecticut.”
“Why?”
“Because the donor matching failed.”
Augustine's eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?”
“It means she wasn't useful anymore.”
He felt something dangerous rise inside him.
“Where is she?”
Cordelia looked away.
“I don't know.”
“Who does?”
She said nothing.
Augustine grabbed the table edge.
“Who?”
Cordelia finally whispered a name.
“Vivian Ashworth.”
Her grandmother.
Mave entered the room before anyone could stop her.
She had heard the last words.
“Vivian.”
Cordelia turned.
Mave's face was empty.
“What did she do to my daughter?”
Cordelia said nothing.
Mave stepped closer.
“What did she do?”
“I don't know.”
Mave’s voice cracked.
“You knew enough to mock me.”
Cordelia suddenly looked afraid.
“I didn't know she survived.”
That sentence destroyed whatever lie remained.
Mave walked forward.
Cordelia stepped backward.
“You knew she might have survived.”
“I heard rumors.”
“Where?”
“I don't know!”
Mave stopped.
Her shoulders shook.
For one terrible second, she looked like the woman in the attic again.
Then Augustine walked beside her.
“We'll find her.”
Mave looked at him.
“What if she's alive and she doesn't remember me?”
“Then we make sure she knows.”
“What if she hates me?”
“Then we give her time.”
“What if she thinks I abandoned her?”
Augustine's answer was immediate.
“Then I'll tell her you never did.”
Mave looked at him for a long time.
“Why?”
He didn't know how to answer.
Maybe because he had seen the grief she carried every day.
Maybe because he had recognized something in her that looked like himself.
Or maybe because somewhere between 2:00 a.m. conversations and untouched cups of coffee, he had begun to love the woman he was never supposed to notice.
May you like
He only said:
“Because it’s true.”
