Valentine is 22 and just graduated college with a PHD in Child Development. After her parents died on her birthday and she was thrown into the foster system she developed a passion for kids and their mental capacities.
Her life was regular to her n...
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The room held its breath.
Kaleb stared down at the note, as if willing more answers to spill from the loops of ink. Valentine's stomach knotted, the silence around them humming louder than any words could. Her eyes flicked to Quincy, who hadn't moved, but the tension in his shoulders told her everything. He felt it too something was off. Deeper than grief. Deeper than revenge.
A knock at the front door shattered the quiet.
Everyone turned.
Kaleb stood first, almost on instinct, but his feet felt heavy as he moved. He opened the door slowly, creaking it back with cautious fingers.
A woman stood there. Maybe in her forties, maybe younger, time had touched her, but softly. Her skin was freckled and golden, her hair pulled into a soft bun that curled at the ends. She wore no makeup, no jewelry. Just a faded green dress and a look that could break glass.
She smiled at Kaleb, gentle and knowing.
"Hey baby."
Kaleb's mouth parted. "Janet?"
Valentine shot up from her seat.
Janet's eyes skimmed past Kaleb, searching the room behind him. "I heard my son was lookin' for me," she said, her voice soft as satin but soaked in gravity. "I thought I'd come see him."
Kaleb couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
His adoptive parents rushed up behind him, their faces pale and mouths open. His mom clutched her chest. "Janet... how the hell are you standing here?"
His dad stepped forward, voice low. "Is it safe for you to be here? After all this time?"
Janet gave a small nod, the hint of a shrug in her shoulders. "Depends on who's still lookin'."
Her gaze shifted into the house, sweeping the room like a radar.
Then it landed on Valentine.
Her smile cracked. Just slightly. Her body stiffened like someone had fired a shot too close. Janet's lips parted in a silent gasp. It wasn't shock in her eyes—it was recognition. Disgust.
"You..." she whispered, stepping inside.
Valentine didn't flinch, but she felt the shift in the air, the way it turned sharp, bitter like lemon rind. Janet's eyes burned as they locked onto her face.
"You look just like her."
The room darkened with unspoken history.
Janet's voice dropped. "What the hell are you doing in this house?"
Quincy didn't hesitate. He reached over and pulled Valentine's chair closer to him, body stiff, jaw clenched. His arm stretched around her shoulder, protective and unmoving. His other hand reached for Valley's wrist, gently but firmly pulling her closer too. Both his girls. Held close.
