I needed to move her to a place where the DeLuca family could never find her.

Suddenly, the screen of my phone lit up on the nightstand near the crib.

It was a text message from an unknown number.

My heart stopped.

I picked up the phone, my thumb trembling as I swiped the screen.

It was an image.

The photo showed a close-up of my mother’s medical chart, hanging on the end of her metal bedframe in Astoria.

Below the image, a single line of text appeared.

*“She sleeps very peacefully at night, Cameron. Let’s keep it that way.”*

Before I could even process the message, the heavy brass door handle of the nursery began to turn.

The brass handle clicked.

I slipped my phone into my apron pocket, my palms slick with sweat.

The door creaked open, throwing a long wedge of yellow light from the hallway across the carpet.

Mrs. Higgins stood in the doorway.

She wore her usual crisp, black uniform, her gray hair pulled back into a bun so tight it stretched the skin of her temples.