Same height. Same eyes. Same little freckle under the eye.
My daughter…
and another child who looked exactly like her.
Not similar.
Not close.
Exactly.
My stomach dropped.
“Junie… have you ever seen her before today?”
She shook her head.
“No. But she said we should be friends because we look the same.”
That night, I didn’t sleep.
I kept staring at that photo, zooming in, zooming out, trying to find something—anything—that would make it make sense.
But deep down, something was already breaking open inside me.
Something I had buried years ago.
Because six years earlier… I had given birth to twins.
Junie… and Eliza.
Only one of them came home with me.
They told me the other didn’t survive.
