“She moved in with us when Nonna called her.” Kenzington’s lips press together again, and her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “After she died, I became Cami’s problem.”
My blood boils. She called my child a problem. That woman will rot in jail for child endangerment and any other crimes I find.
“Why don’t you give me her number?” I ask, trying to keep my anger in check.
“No, she’ll kill me if she learns I’m here.” The panic in her eyes squeezes my heart and fuels my desire for vengeance.
So this woman has been abusing her too? Fuck, I’m going to bury her alive.
For all I know, Kenzington could still have bruises from the last time Cami hurt her. First, I send a message to my sister Fern, urging her to come over as soon as possible. Then I scan the birth certificate and email it to Finnegan Gil, requesting a thorough investigation into my daughter’s origins. I need to know her family history, the whereabouts of her mother, and everything I can about this Cami woman.
As I wait for Fern to arrive, I’ve made a silent vow: I will do everything in my power to ensure that Kenzington is safe, loved, and never called a problem again.
Chapter Five
Lysander
“When are you doing the emancipation?” Kenzington asks after she’s finished eating, her voice tinged with desperation.
I avoid her question, trying to focus on something more immediate. “We should go to the mall to buy you some clothes,” I offer.
Kenzington opens her mouth to respond, but the front door unlocks before she can, and my sister’s voice rings out. “This better be a matter of life or death, Lysander. Elliot has a meeting, and I have to get back to our children.”
“Who is that?” Kenzington’s eyes widen, and she looks almost as if she’s trembling.
“My sister Fern,” I respond, hoping to ease her nerves. “We’re in the kitchen,” I call out.
When Fern steps into the kitchen and catches sight of Kenzington, she takes a step back, visibly stunned. After a moment, she finally manages to speak. “Where did you get Cory’s doppelgänger?”
“Spearmans ‘R’ Us, obviously,” I retort, sarcasm dripping from my words.
Fern shoots me a warning glare and then moves closer to Kenzington, glancing at the birth certificate on the table before fixing her gaze on me again.
I lift my arms defensively. “I had no idea. And if someone tells me our mother was involved, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Fern scrunches her nose as she counts on her fingers, murmuring, “It’s impossible. Mom was in the middle of her catatonia.”
“Was she really sick? Or just faking it?” I ask, my skepticism apparent. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she’d been faking it to manipulate us.
Fern sighs and turns to Kenzington, her expression softening. “Hi, I’m Fern. Welcome to the family.”
“I didn’t come for a family.” Kenzington pushes the fake emancipation paper toward Fern. “I just need him to sign this.”
“As I explained to you, it has to be done through the family lawyer. However, I need Fern to examine you,” I say, my tone gentle yet firm.
Kenzington frowns, confused. “Why? I’m healthy. You can call my pediatrician.”
“We need to document any bruises or wounds your caretaker inflicted while under her supervision,” I finally admit with concern.
“What?” Kenzington shoots me a skeptical look.
“This woman Cami abused you,” I insist, my voice laced with tension and disbelief.
Kenzington bursts into laughter. Once she regains her composure, she says, “Cami is a little thing that wouldn’t hurt a fly. Seriously. She’s one of those people who would never kill a spider. She catches insects and sets them free because you should never hurt them—they’re part of the ecosystem. There’s not one mean bone in her body.”
“You said she was going to kill you,” I remind her, still unconvinced.
She and Fern share a knowing look before laughing together again. When Kenzington sobers up, she explains, “It’s a figure of speech. Cami is the nicest person you’ll ever meet in your entire life. Well, she does get upset and has a potty mouth. Nonna didn’t like that she cursed a lot.”
I narrow my eyes, suspicion lingering in the back of my mind. “Let me guess, she’s nice, but she wants to get custody of you so she doesn’t have to work?”
“Stop judging and let Kenzington speak,” Fern scolds me.
“Why did she lose her job?” I persist, determined to understand the situation.
Kenzington sighs, her expression somber. “She moved from North Carolina to Colorado so she could take care of Nonna and me,” Kenzington explains. “They allowed her to work remotely. But after Nonna died, I heard they terminated her. Then her boyfriend broke up with her—also because of me.”
Before I protest or say something, Fern gives me a warning glare and slightly shakes her head. “Sounds like Cami has done all the right things for you,” my sister speaks, sitting beside Kenzington. “Why didn’t you stay with her? Where is your mom?”
Something about Fern’s warm demeanor encourages Kenzington to open up. Kenzington doesn’t know her mom. She tells us how she’s lived her entire life with her grandmother and cousin Cami, at least until her cousin moved out to study for her master’s degree. After she graduated, she got a job offer she couldn’t resist.
“Cami was a foster child until she was six,” she continues the story, her voice soft. “She doesn’t want me to end up in the system, too. She’s been trying her best, but with her luck, she’s going to fail, and social services will take me away.”
“You don’t have much faith in her, do you?” Fern asks gently.
Kenzington shrugs. “Those are her words.”
After she’s done with her story, I’m grateful to Cami. It seems like she’s always been looking after my daughter. I regret everything I thought about her. I should probably contact her and see what I can do to help her.
“Does she know you’re here?” Fern inquires.
“Of course not,” I respond, feeling a mixture of guilt and protectiveness. “My child stole Cami’s wallet and ran away.”
“I doubt she would’ve given me the money willingly,” Kenzington defends herself.
“We should call her,” Fern suggests. “I bet she’s worried sick about your disappearance.”
“Or she’s partying with her friend. Probably begging her scumbag boyfriend to take her back,” Kenzington adds bitterly.
My first instinct is to believe her, picturing this woman in Vegas throwing the biggest party in history. But after listening to everything she’s said, I can’t help but think Cami might be worried sick and searching the streets of Denver—or possibly the entire state of Colorado—for her cousin.
“Just call her to let her know you’re safe,” I urge gently, placing my phone on the table.
Kenzington gnaws on her bottom lip, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes before confessing, “I don’t know her number.”