“You can’t marry him.”
“Why?”
The child looked up at the rooftop, at the guests, at the champagne, at the perfect life that was supposed to start today.
Then she said the words that would change everything.
“Because you’ll be the next one to disappear.”
The fiancé lunged for the girl.
The bride screamed.
And the older woman was already gone.
What happened to the girl’s mother?
And why did the fiancé’s own mother run?
The bride’s name was Emma. She was twenty-eight years old. She had spent the last three years of her life believing that Richard Cole was the man she would grow old with. He was handsome. He was successful. He remembered her coffee order and her mother’s birthday. He had never raised his voice at her. He had never given her a reason to doubt him.
Until now.
The locket halves lay in her palm like two pieces of a broken heart. She had worn her half since she was a child. Her mother had given it to her on her tenth birthday. “This belonged to someone very special,” her mother had said. “Keep it close. It will always bring you home.”
Emma had never known what that meant. She had never asked. She had simply worn it, day after day, year after year, as if it were a part of her body.
Now she looked at the little girl. The girl’s face was streaked with dirt and tears. Her clothes were too thin for the evening air. Her shoes had holes in them. She was shivering.
“What’s your name?” Emma asked.
The girl swallowed. “Lily.”
“Lily. How old are you?”
“Seven.”
Seven years old. Emma’s heart twisted. She looked at Richard. He was standing a few feet away, his hands raised, his face a mask of concern. But there was something in his eyes. Something cold and calculating. Something she had never seen before.
“Richard,” she said. “Who is this child?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never seen her before.”
Lily flinched. “You have. You saw her every day. You just didn’t see me.”
Emma frowned. “What do you mean?”
Lily looked at Richard. Her small hands were clenched into fists. “My mom was Sarah. Sarah Cole.”
The name hit Emma like a physical blow. She knew that name. She had heard it before. She had seen it in photographs. But she couldn’t place it. Not yet.
Richard’s face went white. “That’s impossible.”
“She was your wife,” Lily said. “Before Emma. Before everyone.”
Emma turned to Richard. “You were married?”
Richard shook his head. “No. I’ve never been married.”
