I turned slowly. It couldn’t be coincidence anymore.
The boy looked about six or seven. He stood a few steps away, holding his mother’s hand and pointing straight at the photo on the headstone.
His mother gently lowered his arm. “Eli, honey, don’t point.”
She gave me an apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “He must be mistaken.”
But my heart was already racing.
“Please… can I ask what he meant?”
The mother hesitated, then crouched to meet her son’s eyes. “Eli, why did you say that?”
He didn’t look away from me. “Because Demi brought them. They’re on our wall at school, right by the door. She said they’re her sisters and they live in the clouds now.”
That name. This wasn’t random.
I inhaled sharply. “Demi’s your friend at school, sweetheart?”
He nodded as if the answer were obvious. “She’s nice. She says she misses them.”
His mother’s expression softened. “The class did a project recently. It was about who’s in your heart. Demi brought a photo with her sisters. I remember how upset she was when I picked Eli up. But maybe they just look alike…”
Sisters. The word twisted in my stomach. I looked down at the headstone and then back at Eli.
“Thank you for telling me, sweetheart,” I said carefully. “Which school do you go to?”
They eventually left, the mother glancing back as if worried her son had said something unforgivable. I stood there with my arms wrapped around myself, feeling the ache of memory sharpen into something electric.
Demi. I knew that name. Anyone who knew what happened did.
Back home, I paced the kitchen, touching the counter and table as if the world might disappear if I stopped moving.
Macy’s daughter, Demi. Macy—the babysitter.
The pieces tumbled through my mind. Why would Macy still have a photo from that night? Why would she give it to Demi for a school project?
I stared at my phone, thumb hovering above the screen. What was I even supposed to say?
Finally, I pressed call.
“Lincoln Elementary, this is Linda,” the receptionist answered.
“Hi, my name is Taylor. I’m sorry to bother you, but… I think my daughters’ photo is in a first-grade classroom. They—Ava and Mia—they passed away two years ago. I just…” My voice faltered. “I need to understand how it’s being used.”
There was a long pause. “Oh. Oh my goodness. I’m so sorry, hon. Would you like to speak with Ms. Edwards, the class teacher?”
“Yes, please. Thank you.”
I heard shuffling, muffled voices, then another line clicked on.
“Taylor? Ma’am, I’m Ms. Edwards. I’m so sorry for your loss. Would you like to come in and see the photo yourself?”
I hesitated. “Yes, I think I need to.”
When I arrived, Ms. Edwards met me at the front office and gently touched my arm. “Would you like some tea?” she asked.
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