She hadn’t been pointing at Rosalyn’s stomach because she thought Daddy was inside.
She had been pointing because she had seen someone else inside the ultrasound image.
Someone whose face looked exactly like mine.
Someone she had already met.
Someone she called—
“Mommy’s other mommy.”
I turned toward the window.
Across the street, a woman stood beneath a tree.
She was watching my house.
Watching Paisley.
Watching me.
Then she smiled.
And lifted one hand.
My blood turned to ice.
Because from that distance, I could still recognize her face.
It was mine.
Exactly mine.
My sister had never been dead.
She had been waiting.
And now that she knew I had discovered the truth—
she was finally coming home.
