Chapter 6 - Leah’s Sister Brings the Missing Pieces
Two days later, I met Nora Monroe.
She flew in from Boise with a scarf over her thinning hair and a folder thicker than a phone book. Cancer had taken some of her weight, but not her sharpness. The moment she saw Sophie through the supervised visitation-room glass at the CPS office, she pressed one hand to her mouth and turned away.
“She looks exactly like Leah did at that age,” Nora said.
When we sat down, she opened the folder.
Inside were copies of Leah’s will, Sophie's birth records, trust documents, and a series of emails she had sent Dennis after Leah died.
Most went unanswered.
A few received one-line responses: Sophie is fine. We’re adjusting. Too much disruption right now.
Nora had tried to visit. Dennis always had an excuse.
He moved.
He was traveling.
Sophie was sick.
It wasn’t a good time.
Then he stopped replying altogether.
“I thought he was a coward,” Nora said, her voice shaking. “I didn’t know he was a monster.”
According to the trust paperwork, Leah’s parents had left Sophie a substantial protected fund after both died within a year of each other. Dennis did not own that money outright. He could request monthly distributions only for Sophie’s documented care: housing, food, education, medical expenses, and child-related needs. He also had to submit periodic welfare forms and proof of enrollment in preschool or kindergarten planning.
Nora looked up from the papers.
“If she was locked in that attic, then he lied on every single one of these.”
There were photo attachments in the file too.
A small girl on a swing.
A child at a craft table.
Sophie holding a juice box in a sunny kitchen.
All signed off as recent.
But when Nora zoomed in on the first image, Detective Alvarez—who had joined us midway through—noticed the same floral wallpaper in the background of all three pictures, even though Dennis claimed they were taken months apart in different rooms.
“They were staged,” Alvarez said. “Probably all at once.”
Nora handed over another document.
“Here. This is from the trust office. They warned him last month that because of inconsistent reporting, a surprise home visit might be scheduled.”
I felt the room tilt.
A surprise home visit.
Suddenly Dennis asking me to arrange a deep cleaning made horrifying sense. He had not been doing me a favor. He had been scrubbing the stage.
If the trust office, or CPS, or anyone else came through that house, Sophie could not be discovered.
He wanted immaculate countertops, fresh linens, and no trace of a child.
And because he no longer had full control over the property, he used me—its legal owner—to let the cleaner in.
Not out of trust.
Out of convenience.
Before Nora left that meeting, she touched my arm gently.
“I know he’s your son,” she said.
I looked through the glass at Sophie, who was building a tower out of plastic blocks while a caseworker sat nearby.
May you like
“He was,” I answered.
And for the first time, I meant it in the past tense.
