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Chapter 13 - The Secret Sister

The name Elena echoed in my head like a gunshot.

I dropped the paper onto the kitchen island, my hands shaking so violently I spilled a glass of water across the counter. Elena?

My mind spun back through decades of family history, forgotten memories, and buried secrets. I was an only child for the first eight years of my life, or so my parents had always told me. Maya came along when I was eight, a surprise baby that strained our family’s finances and sanity. But Elena? I had never heard that name in my life.

Headlights swept across the kitchen ceiling as James’s SUV pulled aggressively into the driveway. Car doors slammed, and a second later, James burst through the front door, soaking wet, his eyes wide with frantic panic.

"Sarah! Are you okay? Where are the kids?" he shouted, grabbing my shoulders.

"Upstairs. They're asleep, they didn't hear anything," I said breathlessly, pointing a shaking finger at the kitchen island. "James... look at this."

James picked up the Polaroid and the letter, his eyes scanning the aggressive handwriting. A heavy frown cut deep lines across his forehead. "Elena? Who the hell is Elena?"

"I don't know," I cried, burying my face in my hands. "My parents never mentioned a sister named Elena. I swear to God, James, I didn't even know this person existed until two minutes ago."

Before James could reply, heavy pounding echoed at our front door again—not a stealthy tap this time, but loud, authoritative sirens and flashing red and blue lights pulling into our driveway. The police had arrived.

For the next hour, our house was a revolving door of local officers taking statements, dusting the window frame for fingerprints, and bagging the Polaroid and the note into evidence. Officer Miller, a veteran cop who knew us well from the syndicate break-in months prior, looked grim as he handed us a preliminary incident report.

"We’ve put a patrol car on rotation outside your street for the night," Officer Miller said, pulling on his raincoat. "Whoever left this note knew how to avoid our neighborhood security cameras by cutting through the wooded ravine behind your property. But Mrs. Miller... are you certain you have no idea who Elena is?"

"Positive," I replied numbly. "My mother passed away five years ago, and my father died when I was a teenager. If there was another sibling, they kept it hidden from me."

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After the police left, James and I sat in the silent kitchen at 2:00 AM, the weight of the new threat pressing down on us like a physical anvil.

"We need to dig into your family records, Sarah," James said quietly, pouring two cups of black coffee. "Birth certificates, adoption registries, old family photo albums in the attic. Whatever secret your parents buried, it’s back from the dead. And it’s coming for Clara."

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