Becoming strangers again (Lily and Ryan) novel Chapter 171

LILY

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I clutched the picture of my boys, my fingers trembling as I traced their faces. It was a snapshot I’d taken on their last birthday—three of them smiling so brightly it was as if they lit up the entire room. The ache in my chest was unbearable. I missed them so damn much it hurt to even look at their picture.

When will they be found?

When will I get to hold them in my arms again?

My thoughts drifted back to the car and the hope I’d clung to—the dashboard camera. I’d assumed it would hold the answers, a clue, something. But no. I was told it was faulty and hadn’t recorded anything.

The excuse felt flimsy, suspicious even. Something about it didn’t sit right.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, forcing myself to think. Just as I exhaled, a sudden thought flashed through my mind: If the dashboard camera didn’t capture anything, what about other cameras? Street cameras, traffic cameras, security cameras—surely one of them must have caught something.

Then there was Clover. He’d met a friend, someone who gave him that perfume. If he wasn’t going to talk, maybe she would.

I sprang to my feet, grabbed my jacket, and raced out of the house. There was no time to waste.

My security followed closely behind as I hopped into the backseat, and I quickly gave him instructions on where to take me. The ride felt like it stretched on forever, but eventually, he pulled over at the same spot where Clover had stopped earlier.

I stepped out of the car, the cool breeze hitting my face. I slipped on my sunglasses to shield my eyes from the midday sun and began scanning the area, searching for any road cameras. But there was nothing. Not a single camera in sight.

Just as I was about to turn away in frustration, I noticed something across the street. The restaurant directly in front of me had a CCTV camera mounted outside. I froze, relief flooding over me.

I broke into laughter, unable to stop myself. The weight in my chest seemed to lift as the realization hit me—this was progress, this was something, at least.

I couldn’t help the tears that followed, joy mixed with disbelief rolling down my cheeks. But before I could gather myself, the security guard who’d driven me here approached, concern etched on his face.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” he asked gently.

I glanced at him, still smiling as I wiped my eyes. “I’m fine,” I assured him, though I could tell he was probably questioning my sanity at that moment. I hadn’t said a word to anyone all day, and now here I was, laughing uncontrollably at nothing.

“Come with me,” I said, nodding toward the restaurant.

Hurrying across the street, I couldn’t help but regret not dressing more appropriately. I knew all too well that the way you presented yourself could command respect—and right now, I was feeling a little underdressed for what was at stake.

I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the feeling of self-doubt, and walked into the establishment, my head held high.

Approaching the receptionist, I maintained eye contact and steadied my voice. “I want to speak to your manager.”

The receptionist blinked at me, her face stoic, yet there was a professional coolness to her demeanor that made it clear she was used to handling requests like this. “How can we help you, ma’am?” she asked, her tone polite but distant.

“I’m Lily Williams,” I introduced myself, letting the name sit in the air for a moment. As expected, her expression shifted ever so slightly. Her eyes widened with recognition, and in places where facial recognition failed, name recognition would always work. It was a small victory, but a powerful one.

“I want to see the CCTV footage from the camera outside,” I continued. “It’s in relation to the case of my missing sons.”

For a split second, I saw her gaze soften, a flicker of pity crossing her face. She glanced at me as though she could feel my pain, her eyes reflecting a certain sympathy that I didn’t need right now.

“I really understand your pain, ma’am,” she said softly. It wasn’t a comforting sound, though; it felt distant, like an apology for something she couldn’t fix.

I didn’t let her pity deter me. This was business. This was about answers.