Chapter 4: The Girl Who Had My Face
The photograph fell from Clara’s hands.
I caught it before it touched the floor.
The girl in the picture was around six years old.
She had Clara’s eyes.
Her smile.
Even the same small habit of tilting her head slightly when she looked at the camera.
But the woman beside her was a stranger.
A woman with dark hair and a familiar silver moon necklace around her neck.
I turned the photo over.
The writing on the back was shaky.
*Clara and Anna. Together forever.*
My heart raced.
“Who is Anna?”” I repeated.
Nobody answered.
Not Clara.
Not Thomas.
Not Richard.
Especially not Richard.
I slowly turned toward my husband.
His face had lost all color.
“You know that name.””
He didn’t respond.
“Richard.””
His jaw tightened.
“Evelyn, there are things you don’t understand.””
I almost laughed.
“Things I don’t understand?””
I held up the photograph.
“My daughter has spent nineteen years believing she had no family, and you’re standing here telling me there are things I don’t understand?””
Clara looked between us.
“Who is Anna?””
Richard looked at her.
And something changed in his expression.
Regret.
Real regret.
“Anna was…”
He stopped.
A knock interrupted him.
Everyone turned.
The front door downstairs slammed open.
A woman’s voice echoed through the estate.
“Richard?””
My husband froze.
The voice was older.
But somehow familiar.
Thomas looked shocked.
“Mrs. Whitmore…”
“I know,” I whispered.
Because I knew something was wrong.
A woman walked into the hallway.
She was in her late forties.
Her hair was streaked with gray.
Her hands trembled as she held a worn handbag.
When she saw Clara, she stopped.
Completely.
Like she had seen a ghost.
“Oh my God.””
Clara stepped back.
“Who are you?””
The woman’s eyes filled with tears.
“I’m sorry.””
Richard moved between them.
“You shouldn’t have come here.””
The woman looked at him with anger.
“You lied long enough.””
My heart pounded.
“Who is she?””
The woman looked at me.
Then at Clara.
“My name is Anna.””
The room went silent.
Clara’s face drained.
“No.””
Anna slowly reached into her bag.
She pulled out a second silver moon locket.
My entire body went cold.
“There were two,” Anna whispered.
Two.
The word echoed in my mind.
“What do you mean?””
Anna looked at me.
“Your daughter wasn’t the only baby taken that night.””
Richard closed his eyes.
“Stop.””
But Anna continued.
“Your daughter Lily was one.””
She looked at Clara.
“And I was the other.””
The floor seemed to disappear beneath me.
Clara grabbed the edge of the table.
“No.””
Anna nodded sadly.
“Yes.””
I stared at them.
Two young women.
Two silver moon lockets.
Two missing children.
A truth too painful to accept.
“But how?””
Anna swallowed.
“Because your husband’s father didn’t want one child.””
She looked directly at Richard.
“He wanted both.””
Richard’s voice broke.
“My father said it was the only way.””
I turned sharply.
“The only way to do what?””
Richard looked at me.
And I saw the shame he had carried all these years.
“To protect the Whitmore inheritance.””
My blood ran cold.
Anna stepped closer.
“Your father-in-law believed the Whitmore name needed a male heir. When he discovered you had given birth to twin girls, he decided neither of them could inherit anything.””
Twin girls.
The words hit me harder than anything before.
Clara covered her mouth.
“I had a sister?””
Anna nodded.
“You did.””
I looked at Richard.
“You knew I had twins?””
His eyes filled with tears.
“I found out years later.””
“And you said nothing?””
“I was afraid.””
The anger inside me was stronger than my grief.
“You let me mourn one child while two were stolen.””
Nobody spoke.
Then Anna reached into her handbag again.
She pulled out an old hospital bracelet.
A faded name was still visible.
*LILY WHITMORE.*
But beneath it was another name written by hand.
*ANNA WHITMORE.*
Clara stared at it.
Then she looked at me.
“Mom…”
It was the first time she had called me that.
One word.
One impossible, beautiful word.
And then my phone rang.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
A photo loaded on the screen.
It showed a man standing outside the Whitmore estate.
A man I recognized immediately.
Because he was supposed to be dead.
May you like
The message underneath said:
*You found the girls. Now find out why I let you.*
