“Claire,” she whispered, almost in disbelief.
The world seemed to stop.
There was no anger, no outrage in Denise’s eyes—only something that almost looked like guilt. But Claire wasn’t sure if it was guilt for stealing her children or for the way she had kept Claire in the dark for so long. Claire couldn’t bring herself to ask. Not yet.
Denise stepped back, the door opening wider. The sound of children’s laughter drifted out from inside.
Claire’s heart skipped a beat.
There they were.
Lily and June.
Claire didn’t need anyone to tell her which was which.
Lily was the one with Ethan’s eyes—the same soft, gray-blue eyes that had haunted Claire’s dreams. She was sitting on the couch, clutching a worn stuffed rabbit to her chest. Her hair was a messy braid, but she looked like Claire had always imagined her—bright, strong, full of life. She was drawing on a notepad, her tongue stuck out slightly in concentration.
June, the other, had Claire’s stubborn mouth, her same determined jaw. She was standing by the door, looking up at them with wide, curious eyes. She looked at Claire and then to Ethan, her little face crinkling in confusion.
“Mom?” June asked, her voice small and uncertain.
Claire’s heart dropped into her stomach. The word hit her like a slap.
“Why are you crying like you know us?” June asked, her head tilting slightly.
Claire couldn’t answer. She took one step forward, then another, the floor beneath her feeling like it could give way at any moment. Her legs were weak, her throat tight.
“Lily,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
Lily looked up from her drawing, meeting Claire’s gaze with those identical gray-blue eyes.
It was her.
Her daughter.
The daughter who had been lost to her for seven years.
Before Claire could say anything else, June stepped forward, her tiny hand reaching up to tug at Claire’s sleeve. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice so small, so fragile, that Claire’s heart splintered.
“I—” Claire began, but the words wouldn’t come. She reached down and scooped both girls into her arms, her own sobs echoing through the room as she held them, clutching them to her chest as if she could keep them there forever.
“I’m your mother,” Claire whispered, as if the words would make it all real. “I’m your mother.”
Denise had stepped back, her face unreadable as she watched them. She had been standing at the door, unsure of what to say, but now her shoulders slumped as if the weight of everything that had happened was finally coming down on her.
“I never wanted this,” Denise whispered, her voice shaking. “I never knew. Not at first. They told me you weren’t stable, that you had given them up. When I found out…”
She trailed off, the words too heavy for her to finish.
Claire didn’t want to hear it. She couldn’t hear it.
All that mattered now was the two little girls in her arms. All that mattered was that they were alive. They were real. They were hers.
