Chapter 11
Rosalie walked to the desk and picked up her phone. No new messages.
She set it down and moved to the wardrobe, opening the door to change out of the ill–fitting gown.
Inside hung various dresses with neat tags, supposedly “carefully prepared for her by her biological mother.
Yet not a single piece fit her properly. She had foreseen it already.
Karen had never asked about her size or preferences. How could the closet hold anything suitable?
Rosalie’s expression remained calm as she pulled out the suitcase she’d brought with her from the wardrobe’s corner.
The moment her fingers met the zipper, the phone on the desk came alive in a tempest of alerts, each notification a drumbeat pounding out the sender’s urgency.
Rosalie paused, turned, and picked up the phone.
A number saved as “Lesly” had bombarded her with messages. It was her friend, Lesly Contreras.
Rosa! Where are you? I brought your piano back, but no one’s answering the door.]
[Where’s Brenna? Why isn’t she home?]
[Terrible signal here. I can’t make calls. Did you get my texts?]
[I’m freaking out.]
[It’s pitch black. I can’t see anything. I think I hear wailing… Rosa, come open the door. Are you asleep?]
[I’m literally dying of fear here.]
As Rosalie read those messages, she massaged her throbbing temples and then typed a reply.
[Spare key is under the doormat. Grandma returned to her hometown. Let yourself in and leave the piano in the living room.]
She sent it, unsure if the patchy village network would deliver it.
Before she could set the phone down, a new message from an unknown number popped up.
She remembers this number. It was from Hayden.
[Yep.]
Rosalie wondered, ‘Is this… a reply to my earlier message?‘ The text was stark, just one indifferent word, no frills.
Then she thought, ‘Asking for a thank–you gift… probably just a whim.’
After thinking for a moment, Rosalie saved the number under “Mr. Merritt.”
No sooner had she finished than her phone rang sharply. She answered, greeted by a sobbing female voice.
Lesly asked, “Rosa! Did you and Brenna go back to your hometown? When are you coming back?”
Rosalie traced her fingertips along the table, leaning against the desk to stare out at the window. It was pitch dark outside.
“I’m at the Spencer’s mansion in Webston.”
Lesly’s surprise crackled through the line,
“What? The Spencer’s mansion in Webston? What’s that place?”
After Lesly bombarded her with questions, Rosalie briefly explained the mix–up.
There was a long silence, then a shriek, “No way! I just went to that auction for you, bought the piano, and took a short trip. How could things have spiraled so wildly in my absence? Since when did your life become a soap opera?”
Rosalie gave a chuckle but didn’t elaborate.
“Stop laughing! I’m serious.”
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Chapter 11
Rosalie’s voice softened. ‘I… want answers more than anything.
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Perhaps catching the uncertainty in her tone, the other end fell silent before asking tentatively, “So… Brenna took the wrong baby home?”
“No. Grandma left on her own.”
Lesly spluttered in shock. “Why? So you’re living with them now? That’s embarrassing! Wait, they just let Brenna go home alone?”
She couldn’t fathom the arrangement. Why was the mistaken child still with the Spencer family?
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