Chapter 81 The Girl in the Room
Valentina
Tabitha had fallen asleep on my lap about twenty minutes into the drive, curled against me like a stray who didn’t quite trust the warmth but couldn’t resist it either.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t dare.
Something told me she hadn’t had a safe place to sleep in a long, long time. So I just let my fingers rest gently in her hair, watching the trees blur past the window while Rosco took us out of the city and into the hills beyond.
We pulled up a gravel driveway flanked by split-rail fences and golden fields. The house came into view like something out of a children’s book—white porch, flower boxes in the windows, a garden off to one side. Peaceful. Quiet. Clean. The kind of place that looked like it smelled like cinnamon and fresh laundry.
Two women in their forties stepped out onto the porch. One was tall and willowy, dark hair streaked with silver and tied up in a scarf. The other was shorter, rounder, with wild curls and a dimple in her left cheek.
“Tabitha,” I whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “We’re here.”
She blinked awake slowly, confused at first, then bolted upright like she’d overslept for something important. Her eyes found mine and she relaxed a little, though her fingers still gripped the hem of her hoodie tight.
We stepped out, and Matteo made the introductions. “Estella. Sheryl. This is Valentina… and Tabitha.”
Estella smiled warmly and extended her hand, but Tabitha didn’t move. She stayed close to me, clutching my hand like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. I gave her a small squeeze and patted the back of her hand with my other, nodding in quiet reassurance.
“Would you come in with me?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Of course, sweet girl,” I said.
While Matteo lingered outside to speak with Sheryl, Estella led us into the house. It smelled like lemon oil and vanilla. Hardwood floors, soft rugs, cozy couches that looked like they’d hosted dozens of movie nights and teary conversations.
Estella showed us around with the practiced ease of someone who had done this many times. “The house was originally four bedrooms, two baths,” she explained. “We’ve since added three more bedrooms and three additional bathrooms. We can comfortably house up to fifteen girls, though we rarely have that many.”
“How many are here now?” I asked, glancing around at the framed photos and crayon drawings taped to the fridge.
“Six. Tabitha makes seven,” she smiled. “Which means she gets to choose where she’d like to stay. We have a private room available—one of the original singles. Or she can room with the older girls, ages sixteen to seventeen. That room has two girls already. The other shared room has girls aged thirteen to fifteen.”
Tabitha shook her head quickly. “Not alone.”
Estella’s expression softened with understanding. “Then let’s meet the older girls.”
I didn’t miss the way Tabitha leaned closer to me as we climbed the stairs.
Estella knocked gently before opening the door. Inside, two girls were sitting cross-legged on their beds, giggling over a magazine. They stopped as we entered, eyes lighting up with curiosity.
“Girls, this is Tabitha,” Estella said. “She’ll be rooming with you.”
Both girls hopped off their beds and crossed the room with big smiles. One had a name I didn’t catch—probably because all my focus narrowed on the other.
Slender frame. Long lashes. Light hair pulled up into a messy ponytail.
Her voice was soft, cheerful as she said, “I’m Cynthia.”
And my stomach dropped.
Cynthia.
The girl Calder was looking for.
It was her. It had to be. She could have been Isla’s sister. No wonder people mistook her for the missing girl.
Estella was still talking, unaware of the shift in my expression. “Tabitha, you can pick whichever free bed you want. Each girl gets her own closet and desk. We’ll go shopping tomorrow to get you settled.”
She opened the doors to show the neat layout—four beds, spaced generously, each with a built-in desk and hutch. The closets were already labeled with names. One had a few folded shirts and a fuzzy purple blanket inside, waiting for Tabitha.
“We’ll go over the house rules in more detail tomorrow,” Estella continued. “But just so you know the basics—we do chores, schoolwork, and therapy. The girls don’t have cell phones or laptops. No social media either. We have basic phones they can use to call us or Matteo in an emergency. That’s it.”
I nodded, approving. “That makes sense. Keeps them safe.”
Estella glanced at Tabitha, who was quietly inspecting the room, her hand still latched to mine.
“Do you want to stay, sweetheart?” I asked her softly.
She nodded. Just once. But it was enough.
I leaned down, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Good. Because you belong somewhere that treats you like you matter.”
And as I said it, I looked up… right at Cynthia.
Who stared back with eyes just a little too sharp.
My throat tightened as I said goodbye. “I’ll come by in a couple days, okay? Just to make sure everything feels right.”
Her eyes shimmered with something like relief. “Okay.”
I followed Estella back downstairs when Matteo was waiting for me.
The ride home was quiet at first, just the rumble of tires on asphalt and the soft creak of leather seats.
This time, Matteo slid into the back seat with me. His thigh brushed mine as he settled in, and his hand went straight to my knee.
I stared out the window for a while before speaking. “That girl. Cynthia.”
He glanced over. “Mm?”
“She looks so much like Isla. That’s the girl Calder’s been asking about, isn’t it?”
Matteo smiled faintly. “She is. Cynthia’s Isla’s younger cousin.”
I turned to face him fully. “You knew?”
He gave me a look like he was mildly insulted I’d even asked. “Of course I knew. Isla asked me to help her. Cynthia’s situation was a lot like Tabitha’s. Worse, actually.”
I waited. He kept going.
“Cynthia’s mom was a junkie. OD’d when she was 14. Her stepfather started using her as a replacement wife. Isla got wind of it and brought her to me.”
“Why didn’t Isla’s parents take her in? If they’re family—”
“They’re trash,” he said simply. “Neglectful. Not violent with Isla, but… absent. She raised herself. And she wasn’t going to let her cousin go through that.”
“So you made her disappear.”
He looked out the window, voice low. “That’s what I do, Valentina. I make girls like her invisible to monsters. And visible again when they’re ready to live.”
Suddenly, all those files I found in his office—the names, the photos, the records that made my stomach churn—felt… different.
Like maybe I hadn’t been seeing the whole picture and he wasn’t the monster collecting broken girls for his own gain. Maybe he was the one pulling them out of the dark before anyone else could ruin them.
And now I had no choice but to go through every last folder, this time with different eyes.