Junie’s face brightened.
I nearly dropped the camera.
“Honey, did you know Lizzy before today?”
She shook her head. “Nope. But she said we should be friends, since we look the same. Mom, can she come over for a playdate? She said her mom walks her to school, but maybe next time you could meet her?”
I tried to keep my tone steady. “Maybe, baby. We’ll see.”
***
That night, I sat on the couch staring at the photo, heart thudding, hope and dread battling in my chest.
But deep down, I already knew, somehow, this was only the beginning.
“But she said we should be friends, since we look the same.”
***
The next morning, I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles ached. Junie babbled about her teacher and “Lizzy’s favorite color” the whole way, completely oblivious.
The school parking lot was chaos, cars, kids, and parents waving. Junie squeezed my hand as we walked toward the entrance.
“There she is!” she whispered, eyes wide.
“Where?”
Junie pointed. “By the big tree, Mom! See? That’s her mom, and that lady’s with them again!”
“There she is!”
I followed my daughter’s gaze and my breath caught. A little girl, Junie’s mirror image, stood by a woman in a navy coat. The woman’s face was tight, watching us.
My stomach knotted.
And then, just behind them was a woman I thought I’d never see again.
Marla, the nurse. She was older, but there was no way I’d forget those eyes. She lingered like a shadow.
I tugged gently on Junie’s hand. “Come on, you need to run along, baby.”
She skipped off, calling, “Bye, Mom!” Lizzie ran toward her, instantly whispering secrets.
I followed my daughter’s gaze.
I forced myself across the grass, my pulse thudding in my ears. “Marla?” My voice shook. “What are you doing here?”
Marla jumped, her eyes darting away. “Phoebe… I —”
Before she could finish, the woman in the navy coat stepped forward. “You must be Junie’s mother,” she said quietly. “I’m Suzanne. We… we need to talk.”
I stared at her, my fury and fear fighting for space.
“How long have you known, Suzanne?”
“What are you doing here?”
Her face crumpled. “Two years. Lizzy needed blood after an accident, and my husband and I weren’t matches. I started digging. I found the altered record.”
“Two years,” I repeated. “You had two years to knock on my door.”
“I know.”
“No. You had two years to stop being afraid, and you chose yourself every single day.”
Suzanne flinched. “I confronted Marla. She begged me not to tell. And I let her. I told myself I was protecting Lizzy, but I was protecting myself. Marla comes around sometimes.”
My throat burned. “While I buried my daughter in my head every night.”
“I found the altered record.”
Suzanne’s eyes filled. “Yes. And my fear cost you your daughter.”
I turned to Marla, my voice thick with anger. “You took my daughter from me.”
Her lower lip shook. “It was chaos, Phoebe. I made a mistake. And instead of fixing it, I lied. I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.”
We stood in the morning sun, the truth between us at last, with witnesses all around and nothing left to hide.
My vision blurred. “You let me mourn my child for six years. And you let me do it while she was alive.”
Suzanne stepped closer, her face twisting in pain. “I love her. I’m not her mother, not really, but I couldn’t let go. I’m sorry, Phoebe. I’m so, so sorry.”
continued on next page
For complete cooking times, go to the next page or click the Open button (>), and don't forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.
