“Daddy said you gave me away.”
The little girl stood in the basement doorway clutching Chloe’s blanket beneath her chin.
Her hair was tangled from sleep, and one silver bead hung from the end of a thin braid.
It matched the bead I had found beneath my daughter’s pillow.
I lowered myself slowly so we were at eye level.
“I never gave you away,” I said.
“What is your name?”
“Lily.”
“How old are you, Lily?”
“Seven.”
Her eyes moved across my face with an intensity that made my chest ache.
She had Chloe’s narrow chin.
She had Ethan’s gray eyes.
But the small dimple beside her mouth belonged to my mother.
I had seen it in hundreds of family photographs.
Before I could ask another question, footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Ethan appeared behind me, still wearing the navy suit he used for client meetings.
Judith followed him, holding a thick folder against her chest.
Neither of them asked why a strange child was living in our basement.
Neither of them pretended to be shocked.
“Lily, go back to your room,” Ethan ordered.
She shrank against the doorframe.
“You said she knew.”
Ethan’s expression hardened.
“Now.”
I stepped between them.
“She stays where I can see her.”
“This is my house too, Megan.”
“And she is a child you hid in it.”
Judith exhaled as though I were embarrassing everyone by noticing.
“Lower your voice,” she said.
“Chloe could hear you.”
That was when Chloe appeared at the top of the basement stairs in her pajamas.
She looked from Lily to Ethan.
“So she is real,” Chloe whispered.
The relief in her voice hurt more than fear would have.
For weeks, her father had convinced her that her own senses could not be trusted.
Lily stared back at her.
“You are Chloe?”
Chloe nodded.
“I am sorry I pushed you.
Daddy said your bed was big enough.”
I wanted to demand answers.
I wanted to tear open every folder and force Ethan to explain every lie in front of both girls.
Instead, I kept my voice calm.
“Chloe, take Lily to the den.
Put on a movie.
Stay there until I come for you.”
Ethan reached for Lily’s shoulder.
I moved between them again.
“Do not touch either child.”
Something in my face stopped him.
When the girls were gone, Judith handed me the folder.
Inside was a petition prepared by a family-law firm.
It described me as emotionally volatile, paranoid, and dangerously obsessed with an imaginary child.
