I forced my gaze away from the painting and turned to Anderson. My throat felt tight, but I pushed the words out anyway.
"Is that my mom?"
Anderson's expression didn't change. He simply looked at me, his face as unreadable as ever.
I swallowed hard. "Where is she?"
A brief silence filled the space between us, thick and suffocating.
And then Anderson spoke, his voice calm but firm.
"She's not here."
Something about the way he said it made my stomach twist.
I narrowed my eyes. "That's not an answer."
Anderson didn't flinch. "It's the only one you need."
Frustration flared in my chest. "No, it's really not." I took a step closer, my voice sharper now. "Where is she?"
This time, Anderson didn't respond immediately. Instead, he held my gaze for a long moment before exhaling slowly.
"She's gone."
That one word sent a cold shiver down my spine.
The word hung in the air, but it didn't hit me the way it probably should have.
She's gone.
I waited for something—sadness, shock, maybe even anger—but nothing really came. How could I mourn someone I had never known? I had spent my entire life without a mother. She had always been nothing more than an empty space, a question with no answer. Hearing that she was "gone" didn't change anything.
So instead of dwelling on it, I asked the question that actually mattered.
"Why was I in the orphanage?" My voice was steady, but there was a sharp edge to it. "If I had a family, if I had you, then why did I grow up with strangers?
Anderson's gaze didn't waver. "Because someone took you."
The words felt like ice against my skin.
I blinked. "What?"
"You were kidnapped," he said, his voice even, but there was something behind it. Something dark. "When you were a baby."
My mind struggled to keep up. Out of all the explanations I had imagined, that hadn't even crossed my mind.
Aaron and Alex stayed silent, their faces unreadable. Like they already knew.
Anderson continued, his voice controlled but heavy. "The man who took you wasn't just some random criminal. He was after your mother."
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to keep listening.
"He wanted leverage over her," Anderson went on. "And taking you was the way to get it."
I shook my head slightly. "But if he kidnapped me, then how did I end up in an orphanage?"
Anderson's expression darkened. "Because when we finally tracked him down... he didn't have you."
My breath caught.
"What do you mean he didn't have me?"
Anderson exhaled, his jaw tightening. "He said he lost you."
I let out a hollow laugh. "He lost me?" My voice dripped with disbelief. "What, like I was a set of car keys?"
Anderson didn't react to my sarcasm. "He was being hunted. By us. By others. He was desperate, moving constantly, never staying in one place for too long. At some point, he left you somewhere and by the time he went back, you were gone."
I stared at him, trying to process the insanity of what he was saying.
"So... what? He just dumped me, and some random people found me?"
Anderson nodded. "That's what we were able to piece together. You were eventually placed in the orphanage system."
Everything I had ever known about my life—the years I spent wondering why I was abandoned—was a lie.
I wasn't just left behind. I was stolen.
I let out a slow breath, my chest tightening.
"And my mom?" I asked, my voice quieter now.
Anderson was silent for a moment. Then, finally, he said, "She never stopped looking for you."
Anderson's gaze remained steady. "She never stopped looking for you."
My stomach twisted. Something in his voice told me there was more.
"But?" I pressed.
Anderson's expression didn't change, but his next words felt like a punch to the gut.
"She died." He paused, then added, "An illness. It took her before we could find you."
I stared at him, my mind blank for a second.
Oh.
I wasn't sure what I had expected, but it wasn't that.
I swallowed, waiting for some kind of grief to hit me, some ache in my chest for a woman I had never known. But there was nothing—just the same numb emptiness I had always carried.
I had spent my whole life without her. Knowing she was dead didn't change that.
Still, a part of me whispered that it should have.