CLAIRE
The name hit me like a physical blow. Vanessa, my own stepsister.
The woman who'd pushed me down the stairs, who'd caused my miscarriage, who'd slept with my husband. The same Vanessa had tried to have acid thrown in my face.
"Ms. Cross?" Detective Rodriguez's voice came through. "Are you still there?"
I couldn't speak, my throat had closed completely. "Ms. Cross, I know this is shocking," she continued. "Take a moment."
I forced myself to breathe, forcing air into my lungs. "I'm here," I finally managed to say.
"I need to ask you some questions," Detective Rodriguez said gently. "Do you think you can answer them?"
"Yes," I said, though I wasn't sure it was true.
"When was the last time you had contact with Vanessa Whitmore?" she asked.
I thought back, trying to remember th
