Chapter 13:
Anabel stood at the edge of the camp, her body trembling, not from exhaustion, but from the sheer fury burning inside her. Her daughters were gone, stolen by a system that had failed her, ripped away under the guise of law and order. The weight of the injustice threatened to break her, but she refused to crumble.
She turned back, her gaze locking onto the other grieving mothers. Their eyes held the same pain, the same helplessness. But Anabel refused to accept defeat.
"I will not let them take my daughters," she declared, her voice steady despite the anguish clawing at her throat. "And I will not let them take yours either. This system is built on lies, on power that crushes the powerless. We will not be silent."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group, but despair still lingered. Some shook their heads, already resigned to their fate. They had seen this before, knew how the world worked.
But Anabel refused to be just another mother left to grieve in silence.
With determination hardening her resolve, she sought out someone who might help, Elara, a former caseworker who had once fought for families before the corruption of the system forced her out. Anabel had heard whispers of her name before, spoken by those who still had hope.
Finding her wasn't easy. It took days of searching, questioning, and following dead ends. But Anabel was relentless.
When she finally stood outside a small, run-down apartment on the outskirts of town, she hesitated only for a moment before knocking.
The door creaked open, revealing a woman with tired, wary eyes. She studied Anabel for a long moment before speaking. "You wouldn't be here unless it was serious."
"It is," Anabel said, her voice firm. "My daughters were stolen from me. I was declared dead. Their adoptions were rushed. I need to know who was behind this."
Elara sighed, stepping aside. "You're not the first mother to come looking for answers," she admitted. "Jenkins, he's the one who oversees these cases. He ensures children get placed in 'suitable' homes. But the truth is, it's all about money. Wealthy families pay a price, and children disappear into their world, while the poor are left with nothing."
Anabel's stomach churned. "Where are my daughters?"
Elara hesitated, then reached for a file from her desk. "I can't tell you exactly where they are, but I can tell you what happened." She flipped open the pages, revealing two separate adoption records. "Your daughters were taken under different names. Ella was renamed Phoenix. Isabella became Christine. They were placed in different homes—one in Arizona, the other in New Mexico."
Anabel's breath caught in her throat as she traced the names on the paper. They were alive. But they were separated.
Elara's voice softened. "If you go after them legally, you'll hit a wall. The system is built to protect itself. But if you're willing to fight another way... there might still be hope."
Anabel met her gaze, fire burning in her eyes. "I will fight however I must."
She had lost her daughters once. She would not lose them again.
Anabel fought. She gathered evidence, contacted journalists, and even tried to take her case to the courts. But every effort was met with closed doors, missing records, and veiled threats. The system protected its own.
The police dismissed her complaints, claiming the adoptions were legal and that nothing could be done. Judges refused to hear her case, citing procedural finality. Even those who sympathized with her plight warned her in hushed voices that she was up against powerful forces, wealth, influence, and corruption far beyond her reach.
She met other mothers whose children had vanished under similar circumstances. Some had spent years searching, clinging to hope despite the endless disappointments. Others had given up, their spirits crushed by the relentless cycle of dead ends and heartbreak. Each story mirrored her own, children taken overnight, families torn apart, and a system that silenced their cries for justice. They shared whispered accounts of bribed officials, falsified records, and legal battles lost before they even began. The weight of their grief was suffocating, but in their sorrow, Anabel found a grim determination. She was not alone, and she would not surrender.
Slowly, painfully, Anabel came to a crushing realization, justice would not come. Not for her, not for her daughters, and not for the countless others who had suffered the same fate. The system was too powerful, too corrupt, and her fight had been swallowed by its indifference and greed.
Jenkins disappeared, his crimes buried beneath bureaucracy and wealth. The orphanages remained open. The system continued as it always had, swallowing the weak and serving the powerful.
Anabel could do nothing but grieve.
She had fought with everything she had, but in the end, the world had not changed.
Defeated but not broken, Anabel made the hardest choice of her life. She let go.
She could no longer chase shadows, no longer live in the past. Her daughters had been lost to her, raised by strangers, given new identities, and absorbed into lives she would never be a part of. She had no way of knowing if they were safe, if they were loved, or if they ever thought of her. Did they remember the warmth of her embrace, the lullabies she once sang to them? Or had time erased her from their hearts completely? The uncertainty was unbearable, but she had to accept the painful truth, she could not reach them, not anymore.
The only thing she could do was move forward.
She left the town where her nightmares had begun, determined to build a new life, not because she wanted to forget, but because she had no other choice. The ghosts of her past would always linger, but she refused to let them define her future.
But every night, as she closed her eyes, she whispered their names.
Phoenix. Christine.
She prayed that, one day, they would find their way back to her.