I had assumed she was a coworker.
Maybe a friend.
She noticed me at the exact same moment I recognized her. Her face shifted rapidly—from shock to calculation, and then to something that almost resembled relief.
She took the girls’ hands and guided them toward the door. Just before leaving, she turned and slipped a small card into my hand without meeting my eyes.
“I know who you are. You should take your daughters back,” she said quietly. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to contact you. Come to this address if you want to understand everything. After that, leave my family alone.”
The door closed behind her.
I stood there holding the card, feeling as if the entire structure of my life had suddenly tilted.
In the parking lot I sat in my car for fifteen minutes, staring at the address written on the card.
Twice I picked up my phone to call Pete. Twice I put it down again. The last time I had heard his voice, he was telling me our daughters were dead—and somehow blaming me for it.
I wasn’t ready to hear that voice again.
Instead, I typed the address into my GPS and started driving.
The house was in a quiet suburban neighborhood.
When I knocked, the door opened—and the last person I expected stood there.
Pete.
All the color drained from his face.
“CAMILA??”
We hadn’t seen each other since the divorce.
Behind him, the woman from the daycare appeared, holding a baby boy in her arms. She looked at Pete, then at me, and said calmly,
“I’m glad you showed up… finally!”
“Alice, what’s going on?” Pete stammered. “How did she…?”
Ignoring him, I stepped inside.
A wall covered in framed photos greeted me—wedding pictures, Pete standing at an altar with that woman, the girls dressed alike on what looked like a honeymoon trip.
“Alice… why is Camila here?” Pete asked, voice shaking. “How did she even find this place?”
Alice kept her eyes on me. “Maybe it was meant to happen. Maybe fate wanted her to find them.”
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