Thank you to all you who reviewed and who are reading. I'm so happy that most of you guys are enjoying this fic as much as I enjoy writing it :)

To Mandy: I don't think I'll be using spoilers, but if I do I will give you a warning :)

Thursday

Stef's POV

It's been two days since I've seen Lux and since we've taken the paternity test at the hospital. My kids have been noticing that Lena and I are acting stranger than usual. Due to Mariana's paranoia, the entire house knows that I came home crying on Tuesday. Of course I couldn't tell them the truth just yet. So, I gave them vague answers and told them that I preferred not to talk about it. They haven't stopped giving me sympathetic looks just yet, and I hate they that have to feel that way toward me. It's like they've been walking on eggshells for the past couple of days, so that they wouldn't do anything else to upset me.

There haven't been any yelling-matches in the hallway, Mariana hasn't even been complaining about everything as she always does, and Jude and Jesus haven't been getting into it either. As much as I appreciate their willingness to get a long and keep the peace, I can't help but hate that they're only doing it because of me.

I am their mom.

I should be the one consoling them, not the other way around. Lena tries to brush off my observations by saying that I'm being too paranoid and that they're not looking at me any differently than they were before that day.

But then again, neither is she.

She hasn't seemed to notice that either.

I know that all of my children are theorizing behind my back, but I couldn't blame them for that either.

I was the one who was lying.

I'm on my lunch break when I get a call from an unknown number. I glance at my cellphone screen and answer it immediately, just in case it was Lux.

It wasn't.

I didn't even have time to give her my number, I remember.

"Good Afternoon. Is this Stefanie Foster?" a woman's voice asks.

"Yes, this is she."

"Hi Stefanie. It's Nurse Silver from St. Rose's Hospital."

"Why hello," I answer. "Is there something wrong? I thought that the results for the test weren't coming in until tomorrow?" I ask in confusion. But I wouldn't complain if she gave them to me now.

"You're absolutely right, ma'am. I won't know the results until tomorrow afternoon, the least. It's just…"

"What?" I ask worriedly. The last thing I need is more bad news.

"We've… well, Lux's file isn't here anymore."

"I don't understand…"

"The paper copy of Lux's file went missing. Normally, we wouldn't bother calling you because we have digital copies of everything. But considering the circumstances, we thought we'd let you know. And we wanted to ask if you accidentally took it home with you."

"You think I stole the file?" I ask in an annoyed voice.

What purpose would that serve?

"No, not at all. It's just… the last time I remember seeing it was when you two were in my office. I just don't want those documents to end up somewhere else, you know. This is just a precaution, not an accusation, ma'am. I'm sorry if I made you feel that way."

"It's fine. But, no I have not seen it."

"Okay, thank you, Mrs. Foster. Have a good day."

"Uhuh, you too," I answer as I hang up the phone immediately.

It was all making sense to me now,

Lux's impatience for the signatures,

Her rush to leave the hospital,

Not even fighting me to sign the papers once we left,

And clutching onto her bag like I was going to take it away.

I knew in my gut that Lux stole the file and I knew exactly why.

Within seconds I dial Lux's phone number, which I managed to memorize after she handed me back the notepad. I had a feeling that I was going to need it.

It doesn't take long for the machine to answer, "The number you have called is not in service. If you would like to make a call, please hang up and try again."

I immediately make a U-turn and start driving back to the station, where I had her social worker fax me her file. There had to be an address somewhere in there.

When I stop in front of the house that Lux is supposed to be staying in, I try to take in the image without making any preconceived judgments. But once I get closer, I noticed that even from the outside it looked disgusting, considering that the white paint had been deteriorating and the roots from the ground were growing against the house itself. I walk up the porch steps and notice an ashtray that's completely overfilled with Newport cigarettes. I look around the porch and see a few empty beer bottles lying around.

This is where my daughter is living.

Instinctively, I knock on the door hard, in hopes that she was actually here. As soon as I'm done knocking I hear the radio go on and the volume goes up completely to some rock song.

Did someone just do that on purpose? I wonder.

Angrily, I knock again, even harder thank before, and wait a few seconds for the radio to go down, but it doesn't. I walk over to the window and begin knocking hard against the glass once I realize that the blinds are closed.

The music shuts off.

"Who the hell is that?" a woman yells. "Joe, can you go see who's knocking on the fucking window, before I go out there and beat their ass! And turn that damn music down!"

The door swings open, right as I make my way back to it. A teenage boy with no shirt on greets me and is looking at me strangely. "Mom! There's a cop out here!" he yells as he stares at me with an annoyed look. "What do you want?"

"I'm Stefanie Foster. And I'm looking for Lux. Is she here?"

"Uh, no," he answers harshly.

"Okay, do you know where she is?"

"I don't know where that bitch went. For all I know, she could be in Hawaii right now."

Before I can respond to that I see a woman, around my age with a baby pink bathrobe on step in front of him. "Can I help you?" she asks angrily, as if there was a ton of things she could be doing right now, besides smoking a cigarette and laying around in the middle of the day.

"Yes, actually. I'm Stefanie Foster, and I'm looking for Lux. Is she here?" I ask as I glance around and see nothing but a few toys lying around in that polluted house.

"She's out," the woman replies.

"Do you know where she went?"

"No."

"What do you mean you don't know? Aren't you her foster-mother? She's staying here, isn't she?"

"Yes, but I don't know where she went. She'll be back later."

"What time later?"

"I don't know. Just late," she snaps. "Actually, I don't think she's coming back at all," the woman changes her mind all of a sudden.

"What does that mean?"

She rolls her eyes before she answers, "I haven't seen her since yesterday morning. For all I know, she's on her own already."

"So, wait a minute. You're telling me that you haven't seen her in over 24 hours and you haven't done anything?"

"She just left. What did you want me to do? Stop her?"

"Yes. Or you should've called CPS to let them know that she ran away."

"Look, lady. I don't have time for this crap. I have other kids in here I have to pay attention to, okay. Go tell it to someone who gives a damn!" she yells as she tries to slam the door in my face, but I quickly stick me foot in between the crack, stopping her from doing so.

I quickly take out my card from my shirt pocket and hand it over to her, "If she does come back, I want you to call this number."

"Yeah," she answers. After I glare at her for a few more seconds, I finally remove my foot from the door and walk away.

As I'm walking back to the car, I quickly dial Mike's number. I know that this is not how I wanted to tell him, but I knew it had to be done before we showed up at the courthouse.

"Stef? I'm working. What's wrong?" he asks worriedly. "Is B okay?"

"Mike, we need to talk now. I'm on my way to the station to pick you up. It's important."

"What's this about?"

"Just meet me outside in ten," I answer before I hang up. There was no way that I was telling him this over the phone.

As soon as I pull up to the station, I see Mike sitting on the steps with a coffee in his hand. He walks up to the car door and opens it, "What's wrong? Is it B?"

"No, Mike. Just get in," I answer.

I know that I have to tell him soon, because time is of the essence right now.

He gets in the car, and I drive off on my way to the courthouse. I already know which one it is, because I carefully read the release form that Lux was trying to coerce me to sign.

"You mind telling me where we're going?" he asks nervously. I know that I must look like a crazy person to him right now, but I just press on the gas a little harder, as if the words would come out of my mouth faster by doing so.

"We're going to the courthouse."

"The courthouse? For what?"

I keep my eyes focused on the road. It's easier that way and I have an excuse to avoid his gaze. "Because our daughter is trying to get emancipated, because she forged our signatures."

"Excuse me?" he asks.

I sigh at the way my mind chose to mention her, but I've already done it, "Yes, we have a daughter, Mike. That baby that we had fourteen years ago wasn't a stillborn She was alive, Mike. The motherfucker who told us, that she was dead, handed her off to another couple for God knows what reason. And now we have a fourteen year old, who's been living in foster-care all this time. She's trying to get emancipated right now. And it's imperative that we get to the court before..." I pause and look over at the baffled look on my ex-husband's face. I knew that I shouldn't have confronted him with this information the way that I just did. But with all of the pressure and adrenaline that was flowing through my body at the moment, there was no other way I could say it.

"Is this a joke, Stef?" he asks angrily.

"No, Mike! This is not a joke! Why the hell would I joke about something like this?" I raise my voice to him. "Do you think this is easy for me to tell you, Mike?"

"But I saw it, Stef. It wasn't moving," he answers matter-of-factly.

I hated that he always referred to her as an "it". I knew it was only a way he could deal with the memories, as if referring to her as an "it" would somehow make it hurt less. But I didn't feel the same way about that, and he knew it.

"I'm sorry, Stef. I didn't mean t—"

"It's fine." I assure him. "…She was sleeping, Mike. That's why she wasn't moving."

"Sleeping?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes, sleeping. Doctor Greene admitted to doing this before with another baby too. He gave her to another couple and somehow she ended up in the foster-care system."

He doesn't answer for a minute, and I try to let him process the information. Honestly, I'm afraid of his reaction, so I don't push for it either. "Are you okay, Mike?"

"…What are we going to do?" he asks effortlessly.