Chapter 6 - The Message Hidden in Mom’s Sewing Box Told Me Why She Chose the Hospital—and Why She Trusted Me to Save My Brother and SisterWe returned to the house.
The police detective came with us.
The hidden room was searched.
The letter wasn't there.
Then I remembered Mom's sewing box.
She kept it under her bed.
Inside were needles.
Thread.
Buttons.
A small wooden bird.
I opened it.
Nothing.
Then I saw the bottom.
A seam.
I pulled it.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside was a letter.
My name.
Amelia.
The detective read over my shoulder.
If you're reading this, then I couldn't wake up.
I started crying.
The letter continued.
You are seven, and I know you will think you are too small. You are not.
Mom knew.
She knew she was dying.
She knew the twins would need me.
She knew someone was coming.
She had planned everything.
The wheelbarrow.
The hospital.
The envelope.
The key.
The code.
All of it.
Then she wrote:
Your brother and sister are not your burden. They are your family. Never let anyone make you choose between them and yourself.
I cried harder.
The detective looked away.
The final sentence was the most important.
Trust the person who helps you walk, not the person who tells you where to go.
I didn't understand.
Then the detective whispered:
“Your mother meant your father.”
I looked at him.
My father nodded.
“Yes.”
He had been the person who helped her.
Not Victor.
Not the police.
Not the network.
Then a sound came from upstairs.
Footsteps.
The detective pulled his gun.
Someone had entered the house.
We went outside.
A car waited.
Black.
Victor.
He had found us.
He kidnapped the detective.
Then drove away.
My father grabbed my hand.
“We have to go.”
“What about the twins?”
“They're at the hospital.”
We ran.
The twins were gone.
Someone had taken them.
There was one note.
BRING AMELIA.
May you like
I knew immediately.
Victor had them.
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