Chapter 5 - The Apartment With Three Empty DrawersElena’s apartment was on the third floor of a building that smelled like wet carpet, old soup, and radiator heat that never worked when it should.
Caden stopped outside the entrance and looked up at the cracked brick.
He said nothing.
That restraint saved him.
Elena could endure poverty. She had worn it like an ugly coat for years. What she could not endure was pity from a man whose shoes cost more than her rent.
Monroe had argued that Elena should come straight to one of Caden’s secured properties.
Elena refused.
Not because she trusted her apartment.
Because if St. Augustine’s had stolen her life, she needed to see what pieces of it remained untouched.
Caden did not argue.
He only said, “Then we go with you.”
Now his men stood in the lobby, frightening a teenager carrying laundry and Mrs. Alvarez from 2B, who took one look at Caden and whispered a prayer in Spanish.
Elena carried Mila.
Caden carried Niko.
Ortega carried Luca and the stuffed bear with the solemn concentration of a soldier transporting a crown prince.
The absurdity of it nearly made Elena laugh.
Nearly.
Her hands shook too badly to fit the key in the lock.
Caden noticed but did not take over.
He waited.
That patience made her throat ache.
Inside, the apartment was small and too clean in the way poor apartments often were. Not because life was orderly. Because when furniture was cheap and space was limited, mess looked like failure.
There was a couch with one sagging cushion. A kitchen table with two chairs. A bookshelf made of crates. A narrow hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom.
On the wall near the kitchen hung a framed photo of Elena’s mother.
Caden stopped before it.
“She has your eyes,” he said.
“Had,” Elena corrected automatically.
Then softer, “Her name was Marisol.”
Caden inclined his head, as if greeting the dead.
Elena looked away.
Her mother had died believing the surrogacy money would buy them time. Six days after Elena signed with Bright Future, Marisol’s pain worsened. Seven days later, she died in a hospital room with a television no one had turned off.
Elena had spent months hating herself for signing too late.
Now she wondered who had known her desperation before she did.
The triplets became quiet in the apartment.
Not scared.
Curious.
Mila lifted her head and looked around with wide eyes. Niko rested against Caden’s shoulder but watched Elena constantly. Luca pointed at the crate bookshelf.
“Bear,” he said.
“Yes,” Elena whispered. “I see your bear.”
She set Mila down carefully on the rug.
The little girl toddled two steps, then reached for Elena again.
Elena sat on the floor.
Mila climbed into her lap as if she had always done it.
Caden watched from the doorway.
His face was unreadable, but Elena had begun to understand his silences. This one held grief.
“She calms with you,” he said.
Elena smoothed Mila’s curls.
“She knew my heartbeat.”
The words came out before she could stop them.
Caden closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them, he looked older.
“I didn’t know,” he said.
Elena’s hand froze.
“I didn’t say you did.”
“No. But I took them home. I named them. I hired nurses. I became their father while you were searching cemeteries.”
The bitterness in his voice was aimed inward.
Elena looked at Luca, who was now sitting on Ortega’s shoe and patting the leather.
“You were lied to too.”
“That doesn’t absolve me.”
“No,” Elena said. “But it matters.”
Caden looked at her.
For a second, something fragile passed between them.
Then Monroe came in from the hall, holding a thick envelope.
“Elena,” she said, “this was wedged under your door.”
Elena frowned.
“My mail goes downstairs.”
“This wasn’t mailed.”
Caden moved immediately.
“Don’t open it.”
Monroe nodded. “Already checked the exterior. No powder, no wires, no obvious threat. But I’d still prefer gloves.”
Ortega produced gloves from his pocket.
Elena looked at him.
He shrugged. “I have toddlers and enemies.”
Under any other circumstances, that would have been funny.
Monroe opened the envelope.
Inside was a key, a flash drive, and a folded letter.
Elena recognized the handwriting before Monroe read the name.
Her breath stopped.
“That’s my mother’s.”
Caden turned sharply.
Monroe handed Elena the letter.
The paper was old, creased at the corners, as if it had been folded and unfolded many times before someone finally delivered it.
Elena’s hands trembled.
She read aloud because silence felt more dangerous.
Mi niña,
If you are reading this, someone finally had the courage I did not.
Elena sat down hard on the chair.
Mila made a worried sound.
Caden handed Niko to Ortega and moved closer, but not too close.
Elena continued, voice breaking.
I made mistakes trying to save you. When the clinic offered money, I told myself it was a blessing. But before I died, I learned they did not choose you by chance. They had your blood since you were a child. They had mine too. St. Augustine’s was never just a hospital.
Caden’s face hardened.
Monroe leaned in.
Elena forced herself on.
Dr. Hale came to my room after you signed. She thought I was sleeping. She said, “The Voss match is confirmed.” I asked what that meant. She smiled and told me pain medication causes confusion.
Elena looked up at Caden.
The room had gone colder.
I tried to warn you, but they moved my treatment. A nurse told me my records were sealed because of an old donation account. I found a key in the chapel office the night before I died. I hid it with someone who owed me kindness.
Elena’s eyes blurred.
Elena, listen to me. If they tell you the babies died, demand to see them. If they refuse, run to a man named Jonah Reed. He was once a priest at St. Catherine’s. He knows where the first children were buried.
Her voice failed.
Monroe took the letter gently and continued.
Forgive me for being afraid. Forgive me for not protecting you sooner. You were not their patient. You were their inventory.
The apartment was silent.
Caden’s hands curled at his sides.
Elena stared at the word.
Inventory.
Not mother.
Not carrier.
Inventory.
Mila touched Elena’s face.
“Mama?”
Elena gathered her close and wept without sound.
Caden looked at Monroe.
“Jonah Reed.”
“Already searching,” Monroe said.
Ortega spoke from near the window.
“Boss.”
Something in his voice changed the room.
Caden turned.
Ortega was looking down at the street.
A black sedan idled across from the building.
The driver’s window was down.
A woman with white-blond hair sat behind the wheel.
Celeste Hale.
Elena stood too quickly.
Caden crossed the room and looked down.
The sedan pulled away from the curb.
Ortega was already moving toward the door.
“No,” Caden said.
Ortega stopped.
“She wanted us to see her,” Caden said.
Monroe nodded grimly. “A message.”
Elena looked at the key on the table.
“What does it open?”
Monroe examined the tag attached to it.
No address. No name.
Only three engraved characters.
C-4B.
Caden’s face went still.
“What?” Elena asked.
He looked at her mother’s photograph.
Then at the key.
“St. Catherine’s Cemetery,” he said. “Chapel basement. Crypt four, block B.”
Monroe looked up.
“How do you know?”
Caden’s voice was barely audible.
“Because my wife is buried in crypt four, block A.”
Elena felt the apartment tilt again.
The letter had not brought answers.
May you like
It had brought a map.
And every road led back to the dead.
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