Chapter 9 - The Missing BabyI sat on the floor.
I could barely breathe.
Five years ago.
A pregnancy.
A hospital.
A baby.
I remembered everything.
Or thought I did.
Emma had been born four years ago.
Before her came a pregnancy that ended early.
A miscarriage.
That's what everyone told me.
That's what I believed.
Lily handed me the photograph.
The baby's face was tiny.
Perfect.
Alive.
“Where is she?”
Lily didn't answer.
“Where is my daughter?”
“She wasn't supposed to survive.”
My blood ran cold.
“Who took her?”
“Your father.”
Daniel stepped forward.
“Why?”
“Because the baby was proof.”
“Proof of what?”
Lily looked at me.
“Your husband knows.”
I turned toward Daniel.
His face had gone pale.
“What does she mean?”
Daniel whispered:
“I was there.”
My stomach dropped.
“At the hospital?”
He nodded.
“I saw the baby.”
I stared at him.
“You told me she died.”
He closed his eyes.
“Your father told me if I spoke…”
“What?”
“He would destroy you.”
“And you believed him?”
“I was terrified.”
I hit him.
Once.
Hard.
He didn't defend himself.
I was crying now.
“You let me grieve a child who was alive.”
“I know.”
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
Lily interrupted.
“She does.”
A voice came from the doorway.
Vanessa.
She was holding an old hospital bracelet.
Pink.
Tiny.
The name printed on it was barely visible.
MIA.
I stared at it.
“Mia?”
Vanessa smiled.
“That's what they called her.”
My mother had named my daughter without telling me.
“Where is she?”
Vanessa said nothing.
I stepped toward her.
“Where is my daughter?”
She smiled again.
“In the safest place possible.”
“Where?”
She whispered:
“Where everyone can see her.”
My mind raced.
Then it hit me.
A child in my parents' orbit.
A little girl I had seen many times.
A child everyone treated strangely around me.
Lily looked at me.
“You've met her.”
I felt sick.
“Who?”
Lily gave me a name.
I couldn't speak.
The little girl was my niece.
Vanessa's daughter.
The child I thought was Lily.
The child my family insisted I never questioned.
But there was one problem.
Vanessa's daughter was four.
Emma was four.
They had been born three weeks apart.
And for the first time, I realized something terrifying.
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The two girls didn't just look alike.
They looked identical.
