The internationally bestselling author of The Woman on the Ledge returns with a twisty thriller about a missing child and three adults whose shared secrets and hidden history could prove deadly.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Ruth Mancini’s The Day I Lost You, which releases on December 2nd 2025.
“I need to report a crime. My baby has been stolen.”
All Lauren wants is a new life in Spain. She’s suffered an unimaginable loss, but at last she has found a home in the pretty seaside town of Mantilla de Mar. Everyone deserves a new start, and Lauren needs to put her past firmly behind her.
Hope has everything: an interesting career as a therapist, an attractive husband, a dream home in the countryside – and, finally, the baby she always longed for. Sam. Her beautiful boy.
But Sam has gone missing.
So when the police tell her that a woman has been found in Spain with a child matching Sam’s description, Hope thinks that her nightmare might be coming to an end.
But Lauren is insisting Sam is her baby. She even has his passport and birth certificate to prove it.
So what really happened to Baby Sam? And who still has secrets to hide?
One child. Two mothers. And a past that won’t let them go.
Chapter One
Lauren
Mantilla de Mar, Spain
I can see the police car from my vantage point above the rooftops, overlooking the bay. It’s dusk and they haven’t yet turned on the municipal lights, but as I stand on the terrace, I can easily make out the white-and-royal-blue-chequered vehicle as it travels along the road below us, then winds around the bend and continues its path up the hill.
I step, barefoot, back through the terrace door and into the bedroom, where I pause, listening for the magical sound of Sam’s breathing, my toes clenching and unclenching against the cool terracotta floor. I take another step and peer through the half-light, moving around my bed to the small one beside it. Sam is fast asleep, snuffling gently. I lean over to kiss him, pressing my mouth against his downy cheek and letting it linger there.
‘What is it?’ asks Gabe, looking up as I walk back into the kitchen. I glance across at him. He’s sitting at my table, drinking an espresso. I would be awake all night if I drank coffee at this hour, but it doesn’t seem to bother him.
‘Nothing,’ I say, exhaling deeply and leaning against the worktop.
Gabe doesn’t press me, even though he can tell there’s something wrong. It’s one of the reasons I like him. He lives three doors down. I met him soon after I moved into the apartment, when we were putting out the bins. A few days later, we bumped into each other in the supermarket in the old town and walked up the steps together, and before long he was here most evenings. We played cards while he taught me Catalan and I helped him to perfect his English, which was far better than my Spanish. He was gentle and kind and asked nothing of me – nothing at all – in fact, he asked very few questions, even though I knew he was curious about what had brought me to Spain, to this pretty fishing town.
Moments later, the kitchen is lit up by the glare of headlights through the window. The stillness outside is broken by the sound of car doors slamming and male voices shouting, and I feel a deep, visceral fear in my gut. I sidestep the kitchen table and move quickly out into the hallway, where I fling open the front door to pre-empt any loud knocking. There are two uniformed policemen on my doorstep, both dressed in black – black stab vests, black trousers. They are armed with batons and guns, and I immediately feel both scared and grateful that Gabe is here.
‘Señora Hopwood?’ the first officer asks me. He’s young, I notice. Slim. Good-looking. Olive skin, deep brown eyes and a goatee beard. I take a glimpse at his colleague, who is of a similar age and build.
‘Yes,’ I say, in English.
‘I’m Officer Juan Alvarez of the Policίa Local.’ I look beyond him to the writing on the car, which confirms this. ‘This is my colleague, Officer Rodriguez.’
‘How can I help you?’ I say, again in English. ‘May we come in?’
I glance round at Gabe, who has followed me out and is standing in the kitchen doorway. He gives me a brief nod of the head and I step back to allow the officers to enter. My hallway immediately feels uncomfortably crowded with men and weapons. ‘You’d better come through,’ I say.
‘You own this house?’ Officer Alvarez asks me as we go into the kitchen. He looks around at the old-fashioned walnut units and white laminate worktop, at the pots and pans stacked on the slightly grubby gas cooker.
‘I rent it,’ I say. ‘From the guy who owns La Roca.’
‘The restaurant?’
‘Yes. In Miramar.’
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Eighteen months.’
‘You are working here?’
‘Yes. At the restaurant.’
‘You work at La Roca?’
‘Yes. I wait tables.’
His eyes move to the door leading to the bedroom. ‘And who else is in the house?’
‘My son,’ I say. ‘I have a little boy.’
‘Hold on,’ Gabe interrupts in Catalan, eyeing the officers one by one, his voice cool and measured. ‘What is all this about?’
Alvarez pauses and turns to look at Gabe. ‘Who are you?’ he asks.
‘No,’ says Gabe. ‘First you need to tell us why you are here. It’s the law.’
‘He just means,’ I say, jumping in quickly, ‘that . . . you know . . . you haven’t given us any information. But whatever it is, we’d like to help you, of course.’
‘We’ve come about a missing child,’ Alvarez informs me, still looking Gabe hard in the eye. ‘An English child. A boy.’
Gabe looks confused. ‘What are you talking about?’
Behind me, Rodriguez steps forward, peering around the door leading to the bedroom, which is slightly ajar.
‘Wait,’ I say. ‘My son’s asleep in there. Please don’t wake him. Just tell me what it is you think I can help you with.’
‘How old is he? Your son?’ asks Alvarez.
‘Two years and five months. Almost.’
‘When is his date of birth?’
‘Fourth of January 2022.’
The two officers exchange glances. Gabe looks perplexed.
‘I don’t know what it is you think I have done,’ I say, gazing from one officer to the other, ‘but I don’t know anything about a missing child. The child in there is my son, and I can prove it. You want to see his birth certificate and passport?’
Alvarez narrows his eyes. ‘You have them?’
‘Of course,’ I tell him.
‘Then let us see the identity documents. And let us see the child.’
‘The documents are in the bedroom where my son is sleeping. I’ll put a night light on. I would just prefer you don’t wake him if at all possible.’
‘Lauren, we should call a lawyer,’ Gabe warns me. ‘They don’t have any right to search your home.’
‘No need for that,’ I say, breezily. ‘This is just a misunderstanding. We can sort it out.’ I step around the table, squeezing awkwardly past Rodriguez, who is blocking my path. ‘Come with me,’ I say to the officers. ‘Just . . . quietly, please.’
The two men follow me. My mouth is dry and my heart is beating its way out of my chest, but I can tell that they are less sure now of whatever it is they’ve been told. I creep into the bedroom, flick on Sam’s night light and point them to his bed, then slide open the wardrobe door. My back is towards the officers as I rummage around in the bottom drawer of the creaky old chest that sits inside it, but I can hear Sam snuffling and turning over. I quickly slip my fingers inside the box where I keep the passports and the plastic wallet that holds Sam’s birth certificate and slide them out.
‘OK,’ says Alvarez, straightening his back. ‘We’ll let the child sleep now.’
I let out a shaky breath and follow them into the hallway. Gabe is standing just outside the door, looking worried, and I give him a reassuring smile. Back in the kitchen, I place everything on the table. Alvarez leans down and picks up our passports, turning them in his hands. He looks at mine briefly before opening Sam’s. I watch as he checks the information, then passes the passport to his colleague, who peers at the photograph.
‘Your son was only just born when the passport was issued?’
‘He was three weeks old.’ I clear my throat. ‘We came here on holiday a few years ago, his father and me. We were going to come back with Sam, just as soon as he was old enough to fly. I was on maternity leave and . . . well, we’d fallen in love with the place. We were planning to move out here for good.’
Rodriguez looks up at Gabe and frowns. ‘But this is not his father?’
Alvarez also turns to look at Gabe, then at me. ‘No.’
‘So, where is the father?’
‘In England.’
The officers wait for me to elaborate, but I take a breath. I realise I’m talking too much. Everything the police need to know about Sam is there on his passport and on his birth certificate, which should be proof enough that he belongs to me.
Alvarez unfolds the certificate and studies it, then picks up both passports again. ‘Can I take photos of these?’
‘Why do you need photos of her documents?’ asks Gabe, coming to my defence again, as if he is a lawyer.
‘A two-year-old boy has gone missing in England,’ Alverez replies. ‘And he has the same name as your son.’
‘The exact same name?’ I ask, narrowing my eyes.
‘His Christian name is the same.’
‘Samuel,’ Gabe snorts. ‘How many little boys named Samuel do you think there are in the world?’
Alvarez shoots him a hostile look, then turns back to me. ‘The police in the UK were given your name by his parents, who say that fifteen months ago, you abducted their child from their home in England.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ I protest. ‘That absolutely did not happen. Sam is my son. You saw my name on the birth certificate.’
‘So, now I want to take photographs for evidence,’ says Alvarez, taking out his phone.
‘Go ahead,’ I say.
‘Who are these people?’ Gabe asks as the officers busy themselves opening up the documents on the table and pointing their phones at them. ‘These people who have made such a ridiculous allegation. What are their names?’
Alvarez takes out a notebook, skimming the pages. ‘The people who made the complaint are called Faris.’
‘Faris?’ Gabe repeats.
‘Yes. A husband and wife.’
I glance across at Gabe blankly and shrug my shoulders. ‘Look here,’ Gabe says to the officers in Catalan. ‘It’s a scam. The world is full of weirdos. Trolls. You hear about them all the time. These childless people have found Lauren on the internet and have seen pictures of her and her son.’
I fall silent, waiting. ‘Can you step out to the front of the house, please?’ Alvarez says to me at last.
‘What for?’ I ask, feeling my breath catch in my throat as the ground beneath me begins to slip away. ‘Are you placing me under arrest?’
‘Just come with us.’
Gabe is as white as a sheet, but the officers are already moving out into the hallway. I feel a stab of confusion. Are they really going to arrest me and leave Sam behind?
‘It’s OK,’ I say under my breath to Gabe. ‘Just stay here. Please. With Sam. If I don’t come back, call me a lawyer.’
Gabe nods.
I follow the officers out into the hallway and close the kitchen door.
Alvarez turns to me. ‘Are you in a dispute with the father of your son? Is that what this is all about?’
I hesitate, then shake my head, my heart thumping its way out of my chest.
‘Has there been violence in the relationship?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘It’s nothing like that. He’s coming here as soon as he can. It’s just taken longer than expected. He has to make arrangements.’
Alvarez and Rodriguez look at each other. ‘So who is that guy in there? To you?’
I take a breath. ‘He’s no one special,’ I say softly. ‘He’s just a neighbour.’ I feel disloyal as I say it. Gabe has been such a good friend.
But the officers seem to like this answer. Alvarez eyes me carefully, but Rodriguez is already on his radio, accepting another job.
‘We’d like to talk to you some more,’ Alvarez says. ‘Can you come into the police station?’
‘Yes. How about Friday afternoon?’ I say. ‘I’m working Friday lunchtime. I’ll ask the babysitter to stay longer. I’ll be finished by half past two.’
‘Yes,’ says Alvarez. ‘Friday at half past two will be fine.’ When they have gone, I shut the front door and lean against it. This life, the life I’ve built, is over. This little bay has been an oasis; on the dark, rain-soaked evening I arrived here, it was quite literally a port in a storm. But everything has changed.
I take a long, deep breath, feeling my heart plummet at the thought of starting all over again. But it’s no longer safe here. It’s time for us to move on.
