He had no right to call my daughter by her nickname. No right to even call himself her brother, let alone father. I’d done a DNA test shortly after Ori was born just to satisfy my curiosity. Funny thing was, she wasn’t Thomas’s child either. How fucked up was that? But Thomas never asked for a paternity test, and I wasn’t going to bring it up.

When Orielle was seven, there was this school play. A Midsummer Night’s Dream, I think it was called. Everyone wanted to be the fairy queen, Titania, or at least one of the female leads, Helena or Hermia. But not my girl. Ori wanted to be Puck, the troublemaker. The jester. The one who screwed things up. When I asked her why she wanted to be Puck, Ori replied, “It’s fun to cause trouble.” I should’ve known then and there that my daughter was no ordinary child. She was destined to be different.

Ori was so gorgeous, with wavy hair that was naturally streaked with auburn undertones. When she was reading or studying, I loved watching the way her endless lashes batted against her freckled cheeks. Everything about her was porcelain and precious. A delicate bud in the prime of her life. As she grew older, her beauty became more and more apparent each day. She would enchant, beguile, in ways that I never could. And I wanted more for her than I ever did for myself. I didn’t want her to be a kept woman anymore. I wanted her to run the world and rule the men in it.

Ori was a natural charmer. So easy to talk to. She could go up to a man, ask about the time, weather, date, or any other trivial piece of information, and somehow, in the process, leave the other party so enraptured they’d sell their soul for another minute with her. Her charisma was unparalleled, and I knew that if she honed it, she could use it to her advantage after she grew up.

By the time Ori was ten, I’d already pictured what she’d look like on her wedding day. By the time Ori was thirteen, I was envisioning grandkids and a generous son-in-law who’d take care of Thomas and I, maybe even send us on a couple of cruises. I thought my life was complete because I’d given birth to a perfect daughter who would achieve everything I couldn’t. She was an extension of me, a part of me, and her success was my success. She would lift me up from Hell and she would give me my happily ever after. Because she loved her mother, and her mother loved her. So much.

Ori and I had always been so close. Despite my appalling reputation, despite my lapses in judgment and temporary fits of rage, Ori stood by my side. She was always loyal to me. Never Thomas. She was my baby. How was I to know that sending her to entrap Ryder would end up being the worst decision of my life?

Ori must’ve kept secrets from everyone, even me. She must’ve had enemies; someone who wanted her dead. Someone who wanted to get rid of her once and for all. For a long time I convinced myself that Ryder was the killer. That, if it wasn’t for him, my daughter would still be alive. But if the last year of therapy had taught me anything, it was that forgiveness and moving on would lead to mental peace. Harboring a grudge against the man who sent me to prison wouldn’t bring my daughter back. I was fifty-one, and though I aged well, I wasn’t getting any younger. Ori had been dead for almost four years now, and I’d been separated from Thomas for almost a year. Of course, I hadn’t officially declared it, but with him in the care home, our separation was inevitable.

I worked part-time as a clerk at the post office. It paid some of the bills; the rest I received through spousal support. Most days flitted by faster than a hummingbird’s wingbeat, and whether I’d planned to or not, I found inner peace worming its way into my heart.

It was all going so well until I saw Ryder again at the support group. Our brief conversation ignited a wrath inside me that I thought had disappeared, but apparently was just dormant and waiting for the right opportunity to spring back to life again. Every syllable from that asshole’s mouth burned a hole in my heart and reminded me all over again that my daughter was dead because of him.

I had no choice. I wanted to be the bigger person. I wanted to forget about revenge and just live the rest of my life in peace. But I couldn’t.

So I called up Orielle’s biological father. The one who spent every single day doting on his ‘real’ daughter but never spent a single day with his illegitimate one.

“Paul?” I choked out, panic making my voice thin.

“How many times have I told you, Nica, don’t call me at home.” In a lower voice, Paul added, “I can’t talk right now, Celeste is getting out of the shower.”

“You loved Ori, didn’t you? As much as you love Cally?”

“Of course I loved her, you know that,” Paul hissed. “I can’t have this conversation right now.”

“I saw him today. Ryder. He’s back in town. He had the nerve, the balls to accuse you of killing Ori.”

“Of course the bastard would say something like that. Anything to shift the blame away from him.”

“You had nothing to do with Ori’s death, right?” I asked, insecurity gripping my chest.

“I can’t believe you’d say something like that. Whose side are you on?”

“I need to hear you say it, Paul.”

“I had nothing to do with our daughter’s disappearance. She might still be alive, Nica.”

“You said you’d find the bastard who did it. But it’s been almost four years.”

Paul sighed. “Nica, I can’t do this right now. I’ll call you back.”

Then, Paul hung up and left me alone in the dark to mourn our daughter.

Almost four years, and no leads.

Paul wasn’t going to find Ori. No one could find her. She was with the fairies now.