The storage door opened after sunrise.

Cold white light poured into the shed, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

I was still curled around Button.

My fingers had gone stiff around his body. When I tried to stand, my legs shook so hard I had to put one hand on the concrete floor.

Grant stayed in the doorway.

He did not help me.

He nudged a plastic cup toward me with his boot. Water splashed over the rim.

“Drink.”

I reached for it with both hands because one was not steady enough.

My head felt heavy and hot. That scared me. The rest of me was freezing, but my face burned.

Grant crouched just enough to make sure I was listening.

“If your teachers ask where you slept, you say your room.”

I stared at the water.

“If you tell them about this shed, I’ll call social services myself. They’ll put you in a strange house with strangers. You won’t take anything from here with you.”

My arms tightened around Button.

Grant noticed.

His mouth pulled into a thin smile.

“Yes,” he said. “That means the bear too.”

I nodded.

The diner opened an hour later.

Usually the smell of bacon made my stomach growl. That morning it made me feel sick.

Tessa gave me a wet rag and pointed toward the booths.

“Edges too. We don’t keep you here for free.”

I wiped syrup from the tables and carried coffee cups to the kitchen. Every time I bent down, black dots danced in front of my eyes.

After Lorna died two years earlier, chores at the diner had become my payment for being allowed to live upstairs.

At least, that was what Grant called them.

I never knew how much rent a six-year-old was supposed to pay.

By lunch, every booth was full.

I carried a stack of dirty plates toward the swinging kitchen doors. My arms ached, and the dishes felt heavier with every step.

Brooke came toward me with two mugs of hot chocolate on a tray.

I moved to the side.

She moved the same way.

I tried the other side.

So did she.

Then she smiled.

Her shoulder slammed into my chest.

The tray tipped.

Hot chocolate poured over my left forearm.

For one second, I could not even make a sound.

Then the pain hit.

I dropped the plates. Ceramic smashed across the floor.

I grabbed my arm and cried out.

Brooke screamed louder.

“She tried to burn me!”

Grant pushed through the customers.

He went straight to Brooke.

“Did it touch you?” he asked, turning her hands over.

Brooke pointed at three brown drops on the cuff of her thick sweater.

“She pushed me on purpose!”

Grant stood and caught my good arm.

“Grant, look.” I held up my left arm. My wet sleeve clung to my skin. Bright red patches were already rising underneath it. “It hurts.”

He barely glanced at me.

“Stop stealing attention from your sister.”

He shoved me through the kitchen doors.

Tessa was waiting beside the fryers.

She pushed a mop handle into my hands.

“Clean the dining room, then do the kitchen. And no lunch.”

My burned arm throbbed so badly that I almost dropped the mop.

I made it to the deep sink in the back and turned on cold water. I pushed my sleeve up carefully.

Blisters were starting to form.

I held my arm under the tap.

Tears slid down my face before I could stop them.

Maybe I should have moved faster.

Maybe I should have known Brooke would not move.

Maybe—

“Why are you the one trying to figure out what you did wrong?”

I jumped.

Ruth Bell, one of the older waitresses, stood behind me.

She looked toward the kitchen doors, then set a small bowl on the counter.

Chicken noodle soup.

Steam curled up from the broth.

“I’m not allowed,” I whispered.

“I know.”

Ruth slid the bowl closer. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t eat.”

I stared at her.

Adults usually said rules first. Even nice adults.

I reached for the spoon.

“What is this?”

Tessa’s voice cracked across the kitchen.

I froze.

She rounded the corner and saw the bowl.

“Stealing food now?”

“I gave it to her,” Ruth said.

Tessa ignored her.

Her eyes dropped to Button, who was tucked under my good arm.

“You care more about that filthy toy than learning respect.”

She grabbed him.

“No!”

The word flew out of me before I could swallow it.

Tessa lifted Button out of reach.

“He’s going in the trash.”

I lunged.

I caught both of Button’s legs.

“Give him back!”

Tessa pulled.

So did I.

The old fabric ripped with a loud tear.

I fell backward onto the wet tile.

Tessa stumbled into the counter.

Button landed between us.

His left ear had split along the seam.

My heart dropped.

I grabbed him and peeled the torn cloth back.

There was almost no stuffing inside the ear.

Instead, a crooked yellow star had been sewn into the lining.

Under it were two tiny black letters.

M.A.

Ruth made a sound behind me.

Not a gasp exactly.

More like she had forgotten how to breathe.

I looked up.

Her face had gone pale.

“Maisie,” she said very softly. “Has that always been there?”

“I don’t know.”

I touched the star with one finger. “I never saw inside his ear before.”

Ruth crouched beside me.

“Can I take a picture?”

I pulled Button against my chest.

“Why?”

Her eyes flicked toward Tessa.

“Because I think somebody might recognize it.”

That answer made no sense to me, but Ruth looked scared in a way I had never seen before.

I nodded once.

“Okay. Just don’t tell Grant I stopped working.”

Ruth took out her phone. Her hands shook while she photographed the yellow star and the letters.

Tessa snorted.

“Enough drama. Back to work.”

By evening, my fever had climbed higher.

The diner lights looked too bright. Sounds came from far away and too close at the same time.

I carried four empty water glasses from a booth.

My knees folded.

The floor rushed up.

Ruth caught me under the arms before my head hit the table.

“I’ve got you.”

“Put her down,” Grant called from the register. He did not even stop counting bills. “She’s faking.”

Tessa came over and pulled me upright by the back of my apron.

“Go upstairs. You look awful. Customers don’t need to see that.”

I wanted to tell her I could not feel my feet properly.

Instead, I walked.

The hallway wall kept me from falling.

As I passed the pantry, I heard Ruth’s voice.

She was hidden in the shadow near the shelves, whispering into her phone.

“Yes, I’m sure,” she said. “A little girl. Red bear. Yellow star. Initials M.A.”

I stopped.

My shoulder pressed against the wall.

Ruth lowered her voice even more.

“Send the photo to the Vale family now. Don’t wait until morning.”

Vale.

I had never heard the name before.

But Ruth said it like it mattered.

Like maybe somewhere, someone had been waiting to hear it with mine.

The next morning, Ruth’s apron hook was empty.

So was the little shelf where she kept peppermints for children.

I stood in the kitchen staring at the bare hook until Tessa dropped a stack of towels on the metal counter.

“Stop looking for her.”

I turned. “Where is Ruth?”

“Gone.”

My fingers curled around the edge of my apron.

“Gone where?”

“Fired.” Tessa folded one towel with an angry snap. “For lying and sticking her nose into things that don’t concern her.”

My stomach hurt.

It was because of me.

Ruth had taken the picture because of Button. If I had let Tessa throw him away, none of it would have happened.

Grant walked in and shoved a cardboard box of paper cups into my arms.

It was heavy enough to make my knees dip.

“We’re catering the school charity event today,” he said. “Important people will be there. You work. You stay quiet. You do not embarrass us again.”

I nodded.

The school auditorium looked different from the gym.

There were white tablecloths, winter flowers, and adults wearing coats that probably cost more than everything I owned.

A huge banner stretched over the entrance.

VALE CHILDREN’S FOUNDATION.

I stopped for half a second.

Vale.

The same name Ruth had whispered into her phone.

“Move,” Grant said behind me.

I carried the box to the refreshment table.

Glossy brochures were stacked beside the donation envelopes. A woman’s picture was printed on the front.

She had dark hair and eyes that made me forget what I was doing.

Not because she looked famous.

Because the eyes looked like mine.

Same brown-green color. Same little tilt at the outside corners.

Under her picture were the words Elena Vale-Ashford, Founder.

I looked away quickly.

Staring at other people’s family pictures always made something hurt inside my chest.

I stacked cups in neat rows.

My burned arm rubbed against my sleeve every time I reached forward. I had wrapped it myself with an old dish towel that morning because Grant said doctors cost money.

A crystal pitcher appeared at the edge of my vision.

Brooke stood on the other side of the table in a white dress.

She looked at me.

Then she smiled.

The pitcher tipped.

Red punch poured over the donation envelopes.

“No!” I reached for the stack too late.

The envelopes turned pink. Liquid dripped from the table onto the floor.

Brooke dropped the pitcher.

“Oh my God!” she shouted. “Maisie ruined it!”

Heads turned all over the room.

“She did it because she’s jealous!”

Mrs. Keller hurried over.

Her face tightened when she saw me.

“Maisie Cole, enough.”

She caught my left arm and pulled me away from the table.

Her fingers closed around the burn.

Pain exploded through me.

I screamed.

Not a small sound.

A real scream.

My knees buckled, and my sleeve slid up.

For the first time, everyone saw the blisters.

The room went quiet.

Mrs. Keller let go at once.

“Oh.” Her face changed. “Maisie, what happened to your arm?”

Grant arrived before I could answer.

He grabbed the back of my collar and dragged me toward the equipment room behind the stage.

“She’s fine,” he snapped at the adults watching. “She’s dramatic.”

He pushed me inside the dusty room.

I stumbled into a stack of folded chairs.

“Stop making scenes,” he hissed.

Then he saw Button tucked under my arm.

His mouth hardened.

He snatched the bear away.

I reached for him. “No.”

“When this event is over, I’m burning this thing.”

“Please.”

“Maybe then you’ll learn what matters.”

He backed into the hallway.

“Cause trouble again and I’ll send you somewhere nobody wants you.”

The door slammed.

The lock turned.

Darkness filled the room.

My arm hurt.

My head hurt.

But all I could think about was Button in Grant’s hand.

Grant could take my dinner.

He could take my coat.

He could lock me up.

But Button had been with me for as long as I could remember.

And now there was a yellow star hidden inside him that had made Ruth scared enough to call someone.

For the first time, being quiet felt more frightening than getting punished.

I ran to the door.

“Help!”

I hit it with both fists.

Pain shot through my burned arm, but I hit it again.

“Please! Somebody help me!”

I knew Grant would be furious.

I knew I might lose the attic room.

I did not stop.

Footsteps pounded toward me.

“Who locked this?” a man shouted.

Keys rattled.

The door opened.

Bright light made me blink.

A tall man in a dark suit stood there, his tie loosened like he had been running. I recognized him from one of the foundation banners near the entrance.

Julian Vale.

The hockey player.

I barely looked at him.

Button was on the floor in the hallway where Grant must have dropped him when people came running.

I dove for my bear and hugged him to my chest.

The torn ear flopped open.

The yellow star showed.

Julian stopped breathing.

His whole face changed.

He crouched down, but he stayed far enough away that I could have moved if I wanted.

“Where did you get that bear?”

“I’ve always had him.”

His eyes went to the star. “Can I see the ear?”

I turned Button just a little.

Julian stared at the letters M.A.

A woman pushed through the people gathering behind him.

I knew her too.

The brochure woman.

Elena Vale-Ashford.

She stopped so suddenly another person almost ran into her.

Her eyes went to my face.

Then my bandaged arm.

Then the little half-moon birthmark behind my right ear, exposed because my ponytail had come loose.

She covered her mouth.

A broken sound came out.

“Can I come closer?” she whispered.

I did not know what to say.

Nobody had ever asked me that before.

Grant shoved through the crowd.

“What is going on?” His face was red. “These people have the wrong kid. Maisie, come here.”

He reached for me.

My body moved before my brain did.

I took one step toward him.

Grant was frightening, but Grant also meant the diner. The attic. The only life I knew.

“Don’t touch her.”

A new voice cut through the room.

A man in a dark overcoat walked toward us carrying a plastic evidence bag and a folded document.

Nathan Ashford.

I knew the name from the brochure beside Elena’s.

He stopped between Grant and me.

“The investigators retrieved a disposable cup from the Cole Diner last night,” Nathan said. “The lab compared the DNA on it to Elena’s existing profile from the missing-child case.”

Grant’s face went gray.

“You stole that! It doesn’t prove anything.”

Nathan did not argue with him.

He handed the paper to Elena.

At the bottom was a number printed in bold.

99.99%.

I could read the numbers, but I did not know what they meant.

Elena did.

Her knees hit the floor.

“Maisie,” she sobbed.

Julian pressed one fist against his mouth.

Nathan’s eyes never left Grant.

Then he said the sentence that split my whole life into before and after.

“Her name is Maisie Ashford. She is our daughter, and she is the child who disappeared five years ago.”