Stallone read the final sentence of the DNA report three times.
Then he looked at the handwritten note.
His daughter was not the child whose identity his ex-wife had spent six years protecting.
She was the child who could expose what had happened to another baby.
And the woman who had raised her knew exactly where that baby had gone.
For several seconds, Stallone could hear nothing except the quiet hum of the air conditioner.
His attorney, Daniel Mercer, stood across the desk.
“Tell me this is wrong,” Stallone said.
Daniel reached for the report.
“I can’t tell you that.”
Stallone pushed the document toward him.
“Then tell me what it means.”
Daniel studied the laboratory identification numbers, the collection dates, and the handwritten annotation attached to the original report.
“This test wasn’t ordered to establish whether you’re her father.”
“I can see that.”
“It was ordered to determine whether your daughter was biologically related to another child.”
Stallone stared at him.
“What other child?”
Daniel turned the page.
A name appeared beneath the second sample number.
Emily Carter.
Date of birth: March 14.
The same birthday as Stallone’s daughter.
But the year beside Emily’s name was different.
Emily had been born two years earlier.
And according to the report, the two girls shared the same biological mother.
Stallone slowly sat down.
“My ex-wife had another daughter?”
Daniel didn’t answer immediately.
He was looking at the handwritten note.
At the bottom, beneath a faded signature, someone had written:
If he discovers what happened to Emily, he will understand why the second child was never supposed to find her.
Stallone felt his stomach tighten.
“Who wrote that?”
Daniel turned the note over.
There was a name on the back.
Dr. Margaret Ellis.
The physician who had supervised his daughter’s delivery.
And who, according to Stallone’s ex-wife, had retired shortly afterward.
“Find her,” Stallone said.
Daniel looked up.
“She’s been missing from public records for almost four years.”
“Then find someone who knows where she went.”
A quiet knock interrupted them.
One of Stallone’s security officers entered.
“Sir, your daughter is awake.”
Stallone immediately stood.
“Where is she?”
“Upstairs. With the nurse.”
“And her mother?”
“Still being questioned.”
Stallone picked up the envelope.
“Nobody gives her access to my daughter.”
The officer nodded.
Then hesitated.
“Sir, there’s something else.”
Stallone stopped.
“The little girl asked us to bring her school notebook.”
“Why?”
“She said there’s something inside that belongs to her sister.”
Stallone didn’t move.
“Her what?”
The officer swallowed.
“Her sister, sir.”
His daughter sat near the bedroom window with a blanket around her shoulders.
The nurse had cleaned the small scratches on her neck.
Her uneven hair fell across her forehead.
When Stallone entered, she immediately reached for him.
“Daddy.”
He crossed the room and lifted her carefully into his arms.
She buried her face against his chest.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then she whispered, “Are they coming back?”
“No, sweetheart.”
“Promise?”
“I promise you won’t be left alone with them again.”
She held him tighter.
Stallone sat on the edge of the bed.
He wanted to ask a hundred questions.
But the sight of her trembling fingers made him stop.
Instead, he waited until she reached for the notebook lying beside her pillow.
It was a blue school notebook with a torn corner.
Inside the front cover, someone had drawn a small yellow house.
His daughter opened it to the middle.
Between two pages was a folded piece of paper.
And beneath it lay the lock of hair she had hidden after the punishment.
She touched the hair.
“Mommy said I had to throw it away.”
Stallone gently covered her hand with his.
“You don’t have to throw anything away.”
“She said it was bad.”
“What was bad?”
“The picture.”
His daughter unfolded the paper.
It was an old photograph.
Two little girls stood beside a white wooden fence.
One was his daughter, younger than she was now.
The other was slightly taller, with dark curls and a familiar smile.
Stallone recognized the younger girl’s dress.
He had bought it himself.
But he had never seen the older child.
“Where did you get this?”
His daughter looked toward the door.
“From your old box.”
“The box in my study?”
She nodded.
“Mommy was looking for something. I wanted to help.”
Stallone studied the photograph.
On the back, in faded blue ink, were three words.
Emily and Sophie.
Sophie was his daughter’s name.
His throat tightened.
“Sweetheart, do you know who Emily is?”
Sophie nodded.
“She’s my sister.”
“Who told you that?”
“Emily did.”
Stallone felt the room shift beneath him.
“When?”
Sophie pointed toward the garden.
“Before Mommy made her go away.”
Daniel was waiting downstairs when Stallone returned.
The photograph lay between them.
“She remembers another child,” Stallone said.
Daniel examined the picture.
“How old was Sophie when this was taken?”
“Maybe three.”
“Then Emily would have been five.”
Stallone leaned forward.
“Find out where she is.”
Daniel took out his phone.
“I’ve already contacted the laboratory listed on the report.”
“And?”
“It closed five years ago. But the company that acquired its records still has the original files.”
“Can they confirm the results?”
“They can confirm the test was performed. Accessing the underlying records will require legal authorization.”
Stallone glanced toward the stairs.
“Get it.”
Daniel hesitated.
“There’s something you need to understand.”
“What?”
“If the report is authentic, your ex-wife concealed a child from you. But we still don’t know why.”
Stallone picked up the photograph.
“Then we ask her.”
His ex-wife, Victoria, sat in a private interview room at the mansion.
Two investigators stood near the door.
Her husband, Richard, had already been taken away after the security footage showed him attempting to strike Stallone.
Victoria had spent the previous hour insisting that Sophie’s haircut was an ordinary disciplinary matter.
Now she sat with her arms folded.
When Stallone entered, she looked irritated rather than frightened.
“Have you finally calmed down?”
He placed the photograph on the table.
Her expression changed.
Only for a second.
But he saw it.
“Who is Emily?”
Victoria looked away.
“I don’t know.”
“Look at the photograph.”
“I’ve seen it.”
“Then answer me.”
She pushed the picture aside.
“Children make friends. You were hardly home enough to remember every child who visited.”
Stallone placed the DNA report beside it.
Victoria went completely still.
“Where did you get that?”
“From the envelope Sophie found.”
Victoria closed her eyes.
“She had no right to touch those things.”
“She’s six.”
“She should have listened to me.”
Stallone leaned forward.
“Is Emily your daughter?”
Victoria said nothing.
“Is she?”
“Yes.”
The word barely reached him.
He sat back.
For six years, he had believed Victoria’s account of their family.
Now he was looking at evidence that she had concealed another daughter.
“Where is she?”
Victoria pressed her lips together.
“Somewhere safe.”
“With whom?”
“People who can care for her.”
“Does she know about Sophie?”
Victoria’s eyes filled.
“Please don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Start digging into things you don’t understand.”
Stallone pointed toward the photograph.
“My daughter was hurt because she found this. Richard threatened her with a stick while you cut her hair. And you’re telling me not to ask questions?”
Victoria looked down.
“I never wanted Sophie hurt.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Because she wouldn’t tell me where she’d hidden the envelope.”
Stallone stared at her.
“You knew she had it.”
Victoria nodded.
“Richard said we needed to find it before you came home.”
“Why?”
Her hands began shaking.
“Because that envelope could destroy everything.”
“Everything for whom?”
Victoria looked directly at him.
“For you.”
Daniel called two hours later.
He had located a former employee of the laboratory.
Her name was Patricia Wells.
She had worked in records administration when the DNA samples were processed.
And she remembered the case.
Not because of the names.
Because of what happened afterward.
“The mother came back three times,” Patricia explained over the phone.
“Victoria?” Daniel asked.
“Yes. She wanted the original results removed.”
“Why?”
“She said the report contained an error.”
“Was there an error?”
“No.”
Stallone moved closer to the speaker.
“What exactly did the report establish?”
Patricia paused.
“That the two children were maternal half-sisters.”
Stallone frowned.
“Half-sisters?”
“Same biological mother. Different biological fathers.”
He looked at Daniel.
“And who was Emily’s father?”
Patricia hesitated.
“That information wasn’t included in the report I handled.”
“Then why did Victoria want it destroyed?”
“Because there was a second document.”
Daniel straightened.
“What document?”
“A court-ordered parentage assessment. The laboratory had received a request to preserve its findings.”
“Who requested it?”
Patricia took a breath.
“A man named Thomas Carter.”
Stallone looked at the photograph again.
Emily Carter.
“Was he Emily’s father?”
“That’s what he was trying to establish.”
“And what happened?”
“The case was withdrawn before the hearing.”
“Why?”
Patricia’s voice grew quiet.
“Because Mr. Carter died.”
The death certificate listed Thomas Carter’s cause of death as injuries sustained in a highway collision.
The accident occurred six months before Sophie was born.
Stallone read the date.
Then read it again.
Victoria had told him she had never known anyone named Thomas Carter.
But Daniel had found something else.
An old property deed.
Seven years before Sophie’s birth, Victoria and Thomas had jointly purchased a small house outside Santa Barbara.
They had sold it shortly before his death.
Stallone stared at the signatures.
“She lived with him.”
Daniel nodded.
“Apparently.”
“And she never told me.”
“There’s more.”
Daniel opened a second folder.
Thomas had left behind a mother.
Eleanor Carter.
She was seventy-two years old.
And she had spent years trying to locate her granddaughter.
“Emily?” Stallone asked.
Daniel nodded.
“According to the records, Eleanor filed for visitation after Thomas died.”
“What happened?”
“Victoria contested the request.”
“On what grounds?”
“She claimed Eleanor had no established legal relationship with Emily.”
“But Thomas was her father.”
“His paternity hadn’t been legally established when he died.”
Stallone looked toward the window.
“Where is Eleanor now?”
“Still in Santa Barbara.”
“Call her.”
Eleanor Carter answered on the fourth ring.
Her voice was thin but steady.
When Daniel explained why he was calling, she became silent.
Then she asked one question.
“Is Emily alive?”
Stallone closed his eyes.
“We’re trying to find her.”
A soft sound came through the phone.
It took him a moment to realize she was crying.
“I’ve been asking that question for years.”
Stallone sat down.
“What happened to her?”
Eleanor struggled to speak.
“After my son died, Victoria wouldn’t let me see Emily. She said I was trying to take the child away.”
“Were you?”
“No. I wanted to know my granddaughter was safe.”
“What happened next?”
“One day, Victoria called and said Emily had been placed with another family.”
“Did she tell you where?”
“No.”
“Did she provide any documents?”
“Nothing.”
Stallone looked at Daniel.
“Did you report it?”
“Of course. But I wasn’t her legal guardian. Nobody would tell me anything.”
Eleanor paused.
Then said something that made Stallone’s chest tighten.
“Three years ago, I received a letter.”
“From whom?”
“There was no return address.”
“What did it say?”
“That Emily was alive. That she remembered me. And that I should stop looking if I wanted her to remain safe.”
Stallone gripped the phone.
“Do you still have it?”
“Every word.”
The following morning, investigators returned to the mansion.
This time, they weren’t examining the dressing room.
They were reviewing the archived security files connected to Victoria’s private office.
The same hidden storage system that had preserved the recording of Sophie’s punishment contained older footage.
Most of it showed ordinary household activity.
But one recording stood out.
It had been captured three years earlier.
Victoria sat at her desk speaking to Richard.
A document lay between them.
Richard tapped the paper.
“She can’t stay there forever.”
Victoria shook her head.
“She stays until I decide otherwise.”
“What if someone finds her?”
“They won’t.”
“And the grandmother?”
“She doesn’t know where to look.”
Richard leaned back.
“You should have destroyed the records.”
Victoria answered immediately.
“I tried.”
The recording continued.
Then Richard said something that made the investigator stop playback.
“What happens when Sophie starts asking about her?”
Victoria looked toward the door.
“Then we make sure Sophie stops asking.”
Stallone watched the screen without speaking.
Daniel stood beside him.
The investigator replayed the final exchange.
“That gives us a reason to investigate Emily’s whereabouts,” Daniel said. “It doesn’t establish where she is.”
Stallone pointed toward the document visible on the desk.
“Can you identify that paper?”
The investigator enlarged the frame.
A partial heading appeared.
Residential Care Agreement.
Below it was the name of a private organization.
Willow Creek Family Services.
Willow Creek operated a residential care facility in northern California.
Its public records described it as a center for children requiring temporary placement.
But investigators discovered that the organization had lost its operating license two years earlier.
The building had been sold.
The former director, Helen Price, still lived nearby.
When investigators contacted her, she initially refused to discuss Emily.
Then they showed her the photograph.
Helen covered her mouth.
“Where did you get that?”
“From her younger sister.”
Helen lowered herself into a chair.
“I always wondered what happened to that little girl.”
“Emily?”
She nodded.
“She came to us when she was five.”
“Who brought her?”
“Her mother and a man.”
“Richard?”
“Yes.”
“What did they tell you?”
“That Emily had severe behavioral problems. That she was dangerous around younger children.”
Stallone felt his jaw tighten.
“Was she?”
Helen shook her head.
“She was frightened. She cried at night. She asked for her grandmother.”
“Why wasn’t Eleanor contacted?”
“Victoria told us the grandmother had died.”
Nobody spoke.
Helen wiped her eyes.
“I believed her.”
“How long did Emily stay?”
“Almost a year.”
“And then?”
“She was transferred.”
“Where?”
Helen hesitated.
“I don’t know the current location.”
“Who authorized the transfer?”
“Victoria.”
Stallone leaned forward.
“Do you have a copy of the paperwork?”
Helen looked toward the filing cabinet.
“I kept records after the facility closed.”
She stood slowly.
“There’s something else.”
Stallone waited.
“Before Emily left, she gave me a drawing.”
“What kind of drawing?”
“A house. Two little girls holding hands.”
Helen opened a folder.
On the back of the drawing, in uneven handwriting, were five words.
Please tell Sophie I remember.
Stallone returned home that evening carrying the drawing.
Sophie was sitting on the carpet, arranging wooden blocks into a small house.
When she saw him, she stood.
“Daddy, did you find Emily?”
“Not yet.”
Her shoulders dropped.
He sat beside her.
“But I found someone who knew her.”
Sophie looked up.
“Was she nice to Emily?”
“I think she tried to be.”
He showed her the drawing.
Sophie touched the paper.
“That’s our house.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“Emily made it.”
Stallone looked at the two stick figures.
“Do you remember when she left?”
Sophie nodded again.
“Mommy said Emily was going somewhere better.”
“What did Emily say?”
Sophie looked down at her hands.
“She said she didn’t want to go.”
Stallone waited.
“Did you see her leave?”
“Yes.”
“Who took her?”
“Richard.”
Sophie began twisting the edge of her blanket.
Stallone stopped asking questions.
He put the drawing on the table and opened his arms.
She climbed into his lap.
After a while, she whispered, “Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Did Emily do something bad?”
“No, sweetheart.”
“Then why didn’t she come back?”
Stallone held her carefully.
“I don’t know yet.”
Sophie pressed her cheek against his shoulder.
“I saved her picture so I wouldn’t forget her.”
He looked at the notebook beside the bed.
For days, Victoria had treated it as something dangerous.
Now he understood why.
Sophie had preserved the one thing her mother wanted erased.
A memory.
The breakthrough came four days later.
Investigators located a former caseworker who had handled Emily’s transfer.
Her name was Rachel Donovan.
She remembered the girl because the paperwork had troubled her.
“Emily wasn’t being moved to another residential facility,” Rachel explained.
“Where was she going?” Daniel asked.
“To a private household.”
“Was it an adoption?”
“No. It was described as an extended guardianship arrangement.”
“Who were the guardians?”
Rachel opened an archived record.
“Michael and Susan Bennett.”
Stallone leaned forward.
“Where do they live?”
Rachel hesitated.
“They moved several years ago. But I have an old address.”
The address led investigators to a small town in Oregon.
The Bennetts still lived there.
And so did Emily.
She was eight years old.
She attended a local elementary school.
She played piano.
She had a small bedroom with yellow curtains.
And she had been told that her biological mother had died.
Stallone did not rush to the house.
He wanted to.
Every part of him wanted to see the girl Sophie had been asking about.
But Daniel warned him that arriving without preparation could frighten Emily and complicate the investigation.
So he waited while investigators verified her identity and contacted the Bennetts.
Michael Bennett was a retired teacher.
Susan worked at a public library.
They had cared for Emily for three years.
When they learned that the story Victoria had given them was false, Susan began crying.
“We were told she had no living family willing to care for her.”
“Did she ever mention her grandmother?” an investigator asked.
“All the time.”
“What about Sophie?”
Susan nodded.
“She talks about a little sister. We thought it was something she remembered from before.”
“Did you try to locate her family?”
“We asked the agency. They told us the records were confidential.”
Michael sat beside his wife.
“We love Emily. We never wanted to keep her from anyone.”
The investigator nodded.
“Nobody is asking you to make decisions today. We need to establish the facts and make sure Emily is safe.”
Susan looked toward the hallway.
“Does her sister know she’s alive?”
“Yes.”
Susan covered her mouth.
“Then someone needs to tell Emily.”
The first meeting was arranged with a child welfare specialist present.
Sophie had been prepared carefully.
She knew Emily was alive.
She knew Emily had been living with another family.
And she knew the meeting would happen only when both girls were ready.
Stallone waited outside the room with Eleanor Carter.
The elderly woman held a small photograph of her son.
Her hands trembled.
“I thought I’d never see his little girl again.”
Stallone looked at her.
“She’s here.”
Eleanor nodded.
“I know.”
Inside the room, Emily sat on a sofa beside Susan Bennett.
She had dark curls and the same smile Stallone had seen in the old photograph.
When Sophie entered, Emily stared at her.
Neither child spoke.
Then Sophie reached into her notebook.
She removed the photograph of the two girls beside the white fence.
Emily stood.
“Where did you get that?”
Sophie held it out.
“I kept it.”
Emily stepped closer.
“You remember me?”
Sophie nodded.
“Of course.”
Emily looked at the photograph again.
Then she began crying.
Sophie reached for her hand.
“I thought you forgot me.”
Emily shook her head.
“I didn’t.”
The two girls embraced.
Outside the room, Stallone turned away.
He had spent days trying to understand the documents, the lies, and the years that had disappeared.
But watching the girls together made one thing clear.
Their separation had not been an accident.
Someone had made it happen.
And someone had worked hard to keep it that way.
Victoria’s attorney contacted Daniel the following afternoon.
She wanted to negotiate.
Not over the accusations involving Sophie.
Those were already under investigation.
She wanted to discuss Emily.
Daniel agreed to a recorded meeting with counsel present.
Victoria entered looking exhausted.
Her attorney placed a folder on the table.
“Mrs. Stallone is prepared to provide a complete account of Emily’s placement.”
Stallone remained silent.
Victoria looked at him.
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That Thomas’s family would take Emily away.”
“Eleanor wanted to see her granddaughter.”
“You don’t understand what Thomas was like.”
“Then explain.”
Victoria looked at her attorney.
He nodded.
“Thomas and I were together before I met you,” she said. “When Emily was born, he questioned whether she was his.”
Stallone listened.
“He demanded a DNA test. Then he threatened to take her.”
“Was he her father?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did the later report compare Emily with Sophie?”
Victoria lowered her eyes.
“Because after Sophie was born, I wanted proof that the girls were related.”
“Why?”
“Thomas’s mother was still looking for Emily. I thought she might eventually learn about Sophie.”
Stallone frowned.
“What were you afraid she would discover?”
Victoria began crying.
“That I had lied about Emily’s whereabouts.”
“You could have told the truth.”
“I thought I could fix it later.”
“By sending her away?”
“I told myself it was temporary.”
“Three years, Victoria.”
She covered her face.
“Richard said it was safer.”
Stallone stared at her.
“Safer for Emily?”
Victoria did not answer.
“Or safer for you?”
Her attorney leaned forward.
“Mr. Stallone—”
“No. She needs to answer.”
Victoria lowered her hands.
“For me.”
The room fell silent.
Then Stallone asked the question that had been troubling him since he opened the envelope.
“Why did you keep the DNA report?”
Victoria looked at the folder.
“Because Thomas had kept copies of his records. I wanted to know exactly what could be used to prove Emily was mine.”
“And the handwritten note?”
Her expression changed.
“What note?”
“The one from Dr. Ellis.”
Victoria went pale.
Her attorney turned toward her.
“Victoria?”
She whispered, “I thought that was destroyed.”
Dr. Margaret Ellis was found two days later.
She had not disappeared.
She had moved to Arizona after retiring from medical practice.
When investigators contacted her, she agreed to provide a statement.
She confirmed that Victoria had asked her about the implications of the DNA report.
But the handwritten note had not been intended for Victoria.
It had been written for Stallone.
“Why?” he asked during the interview.
Dr. Ellis looked uncomfortable.
“Because I believed you were being deliberately kept from information concerning the children.”
“What information?”
“Victoria had asked me whether a biological relationship between Emily and Sophie could be established without identifying Emily’s father.”
“And?”
“I explained that it could.”
Stallone waited.
“She became extremely distressed when I told her that the result might help Emily’s relatives establish a connection to Sophie.”
“Why?”
“She said that if Emily’s grandmother learned about Sophie, she would start looking again.”
Stallone looked at the old note.
“Then what did the final line mean?”
Dr. Ellis took the page.
She read it silently.
Then looked up.
“It meant Victoria was afraid you would discover that Emily had been deliberately separated from her family.”
Stallone stared at her.
“You knew?”
“I suspected. I didn’t have proof.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried.”
She opened her handbag and removed a copy of an old letter.
It was addressed to Stallone.
The letter had never reached him.
“I sent this to your home,” she said.
“Victoria handled the mail.”
Dr. Ellis nodded.
“I later learned that you hadn’t received it.”
Stallone looked at the date.
Three years earlier.
The same year Emily had been sent to Oregon.
The investigation continued for several months.
The archived security footage, medical records, placement documents, and witness statements established a timeline that Victoria could no longer explain away.
Richard had helped arrange Emily’s removal.
Victoria had provided false information about the child’s family.
And both had concealed her location while Eleanor Carter searched for her granddaughter.
The evidence concerning Sophie’s punishment became part of a separate child protection investigation.
The recording from the dressing room was preserved.
So were the hidden security files.
Stallone did not allow either adult to contact Sophie while protective restrictions remained in place.
Emily stayed with the Bennetts during the initial investigation.
Her care was reviewed by the appropriate authorities, and arrangements were made for her to reconnect gradually with Eleanor and Sophie.
Nobody forced her to leave the home where she felt safe.
Nobody asked her to choose between the people who had raised her and the relatives she had lost.
For the first time, the adults involved began making decisions around what the children needed.
Not what Victoria wanted hidden.
Six months later, Sophie and Emily spent a Saturday afternoon together at Stallone’s home.
Eleanor sat nearby, watching them draw.
Emily had brought a small box of photographs from Oregon.
Sophie brought her blue notebook.
They spread everything across the dining room table.
Stallone entered carrying two glasses of lemonade.
“What are you working on?”
“A family book,” Sophie announced.
Emily held up a page.
It showed Eleanor standing beside both girls.
Susan and Michael Bennett appeared on the next page.
Stallone smiled.
“That’s a lot of people.”
Emily nodded.
“They all belong.”
Sophie turned to the back of her notebook.
The lock of hair was still tucked between two pages.
Stallone noticed it.
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to keep that if it makes you sad.”
Sophie looked at the hair.
Then at Emily.
“I kept it because I thought Mommy might take everything else.”
Emily reached across the table and touched her hand.
“She didn’t.”
Sophie shook her head.
“No.”
She carefully placed the lock inside a small envelope.
Then she wrote the date on the front.
Stallone watched without interrupting.
A few minutes later, Sophie returned to the family book.
She drew another picture of the white fence.
This time, the two girls stood on the same side.
And behind them were the people who had helped bring them together.
That evening, after Emily had gone home with the Bennetts, Stallone found Sophie sitting on her bed.
The notebook lay open beside her.
“Did you have a good day?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Emily said she can come back next month.”
“That’s the plan.”
Sophie smiled.
Then her expression grew serious.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Are you still angry?”
Stallone sat beside her.
“About what happened to you?”
She nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m angry that you were hurt.”
Sophie looked at her hands.
“Mommy said I was bad because I found the envelope.”
Stallone turned toward her.
“You didn’t do anything wrong by finding it.”
“But she said I ruined everything.”
He gently took her hand.
“Finding out the truth didn’t ruin our family.”
Sophie looked up.
“Then what did?”
Stallone thought about the photograph, the years Eleanor had spent searching, and the two little girls who had been kept apart.
“The decisions the adults made,” he answered. “Those were never your responsibility.”
Sophie leaned against him.
After a moment, she reached for the notebook and closed it.
“Can you put this somewhere safe?”
“Of course.”
He took it carefully.
“Where would you like me to keep it?”
She pointed toward the bookshelf.
“Next to our family pictures.”
Stallone placed it there.
The old photograph of Sophie and Emily was now framed beside the notebook.
For years, Victoria had feared that one little girl would remember another.
She had tried to hide the documents, remove the photographs, and frighten Sophie into silence.
But Sophie had kept the picture.
She had remembered her sister.
And when her father finally listened, he helped bring them back together.
Stallone switched off the bedroom light and left the door slightly open.
From her bed, Sophie called softly.
“Daddy?”
He turned.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Emily knows where I am now, right?”
He smiled.
“Yes. She knows.”
Sophie pulled the blanket beneath her chin.
“Good. Because I never want her to think I stopped looking for her.”
Stallone stood in the doorway until she closed her eyes.
Then he walked into the hallway, where the blue notebook rested safely beside the family photographs.
This time, nobody was going to take it away.
