Page 37 of Mating Mia
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I murmur, and instantly Jace is at my side with a trash can, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on my back as I heave into it. Nothing comes up—we haven’t eaten since breakfast—but the nausea doesn’t subside.
“Take your time,” Officer Reynolds says, her voice softer now. “I know this is a shock.”
When I finally look up, tears are streaming down my face. I don’t remember starting to cry. “You said I was brought here? Before being... taken?”
Ms. Winters nods, pushing a tissue box toward me. “According to the records, an elderly woman brought you to this agency. She wasn’t a relative—at least, she didn’t claim to be. She said she found you abandoned and wanted to make sure you were placed with a good family.”
“Who was she?” I ask, desperate for any clue, any connection to my past.
“Her name was Larissa Gray,” Ms. Winters says, consulting her notes. “She was in her sixties at the time. She visited you every day for the two weeks you were here before the kidnapping.”
Something clicks in my mind, a fragmented memory so old and faded I’m not sure if it’s real or just something I’ve constructed: the smell of lavender, a soft, wrinkled hand stroking my hair, a voice singing a lullaby I can’t quite recall.
“Was she... was she investigated?” Kane asks, his tone carefully controlled despite the tension radiating from him.
Officer Reynolds shakes her head. “She was cleared. There was nothing linking her to the kidnappings.”
“I can’t believe this,” I mutter, blowing my nose into a tissue, trying to process everything.
“We need your help,” Officer Reynolds says simply. “We need names, addresses, any information you can give us about the people who raised you.”
I freeze, conflicted. Despite everything that the family did to me, despite this new horrible truth, the thought of sending police to their door makes my stomach twist.
“They’re not good people,” I say slowly. “But my siblings will be alone.”
“Your siblings?” Ms. Winters asks, leaning forward with sudden interest.
“Five of them,” I confirm. “All adopted. Or... I guess maybe not adopted at all.”
The implication hits me like a physical blow.If I were kidnapped, what about the others? Are they all stolen children, torn from their birth families just like me?
Officer Reynolds’s expression confirms my fears. “Six missing babies, Ms. Jenkins. Six.”
“Oh god,” I whisper, the full horror washing over me. My siblings aren’t just victims of Steve and Martha’s emotional abuse—they’re victims of kidnapping, their entire identities built on lies. “I had no idea.”
“Most kidnapped children don’t,” she replies gently. “That’s what makes these cases so difficult to solve.”
I turn to Kane, searching his face for guidance. His eyes are stormy with barely-contained rage, but when he speaks, his voice is calm and measured for my benefit.
“Think about your siblings. They deserve to know the truth, just like you do. They deserve a chance to find their real families.”
His words cut through my hesitation like a knife through butter. He’s right, of course. Whatever misplaced loyalty I might still feel toward the Jenkinses, my siblings deserve better.
They deserve the truth.
“Okay,” I say, straightening my spine with newfound resolve. “I’ll tell you everything.”
For the next half hour, I provide every detail I can remember—full names, birth dates, the farm’s address, descriptions of each family member, even the names of neighbors who might corroborate my story. With each fact I divulge, a weight lifts from my shoulders, like I’m finally breaking free from invisible chains that have bound me to that farm for years.
When I finish, Officer Reynolds closes her notebook with a solemn nod. “Thank you, Ms. Jenkins. This is more than we’ve had to go on in years.”
“What will happen to them?” I ask, my heart beating hard.
“They’ll face charges,” she says frankly. “The severity depends on what else we uncover. But I promise we’ll be sensitive about your siblings. Their welfare is our priority.”
I nod, suddenly exhausted by the emotional marathon of the past hour. “Is there anything else you need from me?”
Ms. Winters hesitates, then reaches into her desk drawer.
