12!

MABEL

The address led me to a neighborhood I didn't recognize. The cab driver looked uncomfortable as we pulled deeper into Queens, past bodegas with barred windows and apartment buildings with peeling paint.

This wasn't the New York I'd known during my marriage to Ethan. This was the New York I'd lived in after the divorce, when I was sleeping in cheap motels and counting pennies.

"You sure this is the right place?" the driver asked, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

I checked my phone. "Yes. That building right there."

He pulled up to a tired-looking four-story walk-up. Graffiti decorated the entrance, and half the mailboxes hung open, broken.

I paid the fare and stepped out onto the cracked sidewalk.

For a moment, I just stood there, staring up at the building. What was I doing here? I had my own crisis to deal with. My own child to fight for.

But Lily's face, a face I'd only seen in old Christmas photos—kept appearing in my mind. A Twelve years old. Sick. Scared.

I climbed the steps and checked the names on the buzzers. Most were faded or missing entirely, but I found it on the third floor: James/B&L.

Bella and Lily.

I pressed the button.

No answer.

I tried again, holding it longer this time.

Finally, a crackling voice came through the speaker. "Who is it?"

"It's Mabel." I paused. "Mabel James. Andrew's daughter."

A long silence.

Then: "Third floor. Door's unlocked."

The buzzer rang, and I pushed through the entrance into a dim hallway that smelled like cooking oil and mildew. The stairs creaked under my feet as I climbed, my designer heels clicking against worn linoleum.

The third-floor hallway was narrow and poorly lit. I found apartment 3C and knocked.

The door opened almost immediately.

A young woman stood there, and for a moment, I just stared.

Bella looked exhausted. That was my first thought. She had Andrew's sharp cheekbones and dark hair, but her eyes, light brown, wary, must have come from Margaret.

She wore scrubs with coffee stains on the front, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.

She looked me up and down, taking in my Armani suit, my expensive bag, my salon-perfect hair.

"So the princess finally shows up," she said.

Her tone was sharp, defensive. I didn't blame her.

"Can I come in?" I asked.

She stepped aside without a word.

The apartment was small, tiny, really. One main room that served as living room, dining room, and kitchen. A threadbare couch faced an old TV.

The kitchen counter was cluttered with medical supplies: insulin vials, syringes, alcohol wipes, test strips.

Everything was clean but worn. The furniture looked like it had been salvaged from thrift stores. The carpet was stained in places. This wasn't poverty, exactly, but it was close.

"Lily's sleeping," Bella said, closing the door behind me. "She had a rough night."

I nodded, not sure what to say.

Bella crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. "So. Andrew called you."

"He did."

"And you actually came." She sounded surprised. Maybe even impressed. "I told him not to bother you. Figured you had better things to do than deal with the family he left behind."

The bitterness in her voice was palpable.

"He said Lily's sick," I said carefully. "That she needs help."

"She needs a lot more than help." Bella laughed, but there was no humor in it.

"She needs a new insulin pump. She needs regular endocrinologist appointments. She needs a stable home where she doesn't have to worry about whether we can afford her medication this month."

"What happened to Margaret?" I asked.

Bella's expression hardened. "Who knows? She left three years ago. I came home one day, packed a bag, and walked out. No explanation. No goodbye. Just... gone."

"I'm sorry."

"Are you?" Bella challenged. "Or are you just saying that because it's what people say?"

I met her gaze steadily. "I'm saying it because I know what it's like to be abandoned by people who are supposed to love you."

Something flickered across Bella's face. For just a moment, her defensive armor cracked.

"Andrew told you I was successful," I said. "That I work with celebrities."

"Yeah. I've seen the articles. 'LA's Hottest New Stylist.' Must be nice, living that life."

"It is," I admitted. "I worked hard for it. Built it from nothing."

"Good for you." The sarcasm was back.

I took a breath, choosing my words carefully. "He also told me about the medical bills. The insulin pump."

Bella's jaw tightened. "We're managing."

"Are you?"

"We will." But her voice wavered slightly.

"How many jobs are you working?"

"Three." She said it defensively, like it was a point of pride. "I do medical billing from home, work the night shift at a 24-hour diner, and clean offices on weekends."

"When do you sleep?"

"When I can."

I looked around the apartment again, really seeing it this time. The medical supplies taking up valuable counter space.

The pill organizer on the coffee table. The medical alert bracelet I could see on the arm of a small figure sleeping in the bedroom visible through a half-open door.

Lily.

"I want to help," I said.

Bella laughed harshly. "Right. Because you care so much about the little sister you've met exactly once?"

"No," I said honestly. "Because I understand what it's like to be twelve years old and have your whole world fall apart."

Bella studied me for a long moment. "What happened to you?"

I thought about telling her everything,.the stolen baby, the divorce, the years of searching. But I wasn't ready to share that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"My mother died when I was young," I said instead. "Andrew couldn't handle it. He drank. A lot. I mostly raised myself."

Bella's expression softened slightly. "He told me about your mom. Said she was talented. A designer or something?"

"A stylist. Like me." I paused. "She died in a car accident when I was fifteen."

"I'm sorry." And this time, Bella sounded like she meant it.

"How much is the insulin pump?" I asked.

"Eight thousand dollars." Bella said it was like the number physically hurt to speak.

"Insurance won't cover a replacement until next year. But Lily's current pump is failing. She had a hypoglycemic episode at school last week. Passed out in the middle of class."

My chest tightened. "Is she okay?"

"For now. But the next time..." Bella's voice cracked. "The next time she might not be."

I pulled out my phone. "Give me the details. The brand. Model number. Where to order it."

Bella stared at me. "What are you doing?"

"Buying your sister an insulin pump."

"You can't just…"

"I can," I interrupted. "And I will. Consider it a loan if that makes you feel better."

"I can't pay you back."

"Then don't." I looked at her directly. "I have money. More than I need. And your sister is sick. This is the easiest decision I've made all day."

Bella's eyes filled with tears. She blinked them back furiously. "Why would you do this? You don't even know us."

"Because someone should have helped me when I needed it," I said quietly. "And no one did."

Bella wiped at her eyes roughly. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll let me help."

She hesitated, pride warring with desperation on her face.

Finally, she nodded.

"Okay," she whispered. "Okay."

And just like that, I had a family again.

Whether I wanted one or not.