Three versions of the same lie.
My father looked at me.
“Emily, leave.”
“No.”
Daniel stepped forward.
“It’s time.”
My father shouted:
“Don’t!”
Daniel looked at me.
“Your mother wasn’t killed by your father.”
I stared.
“She killed herself.”
“Why?”
“Because she discovered the truth.”
“What truth?”
Daniel’s face hardened.
“You aren’t Emily.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
He shook his head.
“You are Elena.”
My blood froze.
“No.”
“Yes.”
He pulled out an old photograph.
Two babies.
One marked Emily.
One marked Elena.
Then he pointed.
“You were Elena.”
I stared.
“Your sister was Emily.”
“What?”
“Your father switched you.”
“Why?”
“Because Emily was sick.”
My breathing stopped.
“Your father wanted to save her.”
“But she died.”
“No.”
Daniel’s eyes filled with tears.
“She survived.”
My head spun.
“Then where is she?”
Daniel looked at Trevor.
Trevor lowered his head.
