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I spent the day cleaning, trying to scrub off my nerves. “Relax, Phoebe,” I said out loud. “Sally’s going to be just fine.” That afternoon, I barely had time to set down the sponge before the front door slammed. Salome burst in, backpack half open, cheeks flushed. “Mom! Tomorrow you have to pack one more lunchbox!” I blinked, rinsing soap from my hands.
“One more? Why, sweetheart? Did Mommy not pack enough?” She tossed her backpack onto the floor and rolled her eyes, like I should already know. “For my sister.” A jolt of confusion ran through me. “Your… sister? Honey, you know you’re my only girl.
For a moment, she looked just like Michael. “No, Mom. I’m not. I met my sister today. Her name’s Lizzy.” I fought to stay calm. “Lizzy, huh? Is she new at school?” “Yes! She sits right next to me!” Salome was already fishing in her backpack. “And she looks like me. Like… the same. Except her hair is parted on the other side.” A strange chill ran down my back. “What does she like for lunch, baby?” “She said peanut butter and jelly,” Salome said. “But she said she’s never had it at school before. She liked that you put more jelly than her mom.”
Then Salome’s face brightened. “Oh! Want to see a picture? I used the camera like you said!” I’d bought her one of those little pink disposable film cameras for her first day. I thought it’d be fun, and help her make memories. And that I could make a scrapbook for her later.
She handed me the camera, so proud of herself. “Ms. Hassan helped take a photo of us. Lizzy was shy! Ms. Hassan asked if we were sisters.” I scrolled through the photos. There they were, two little girls by the cubbies, matching eyes, same curly hair, and even similar freckles just under their left eyes.
I nearly dropped the camera. “Honey, did you know Lizzy before today?” She shook her head. “Nope. But she said we should be friends, since we look the same. Mom, can she come over for a playdate? She said her mom walks her to school, but maybe next time you could meet her?” I tried to keep my tone steady.
“Maybe, baby. We’ll see.” That night, I sat on the couch staring at the photo, heart thudding, hope and dread battling in my chest. But deep down, I already knew, somehow, this was only the beginning. The next morning, I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles ached. Salome babbled about her teacher and “Lizzy’s favorite color” the whole way, completely oblivious.
The school parking lot was chaos, cars, kids, and parents waving. Salome squeezed my hand as we walked toward the entrance. “There she is!” she whispered, eyes wide. “Where?” Salome pointed. “By the big tree, Mom! See? That’s her mom, and that lady’s with them again!”.
A little girl, Salome’s mirror image, stood by a woman in a navy coat. The woman’s face was tight, watching us. My stomach knotted. And then, just behind them was a woman I thought I’d never see again. Juliet, the nurse. She was older, but there was no way I’d forget those eyes. She lingered like a shadow. I tugged gently on Salome’s hand. “Come on, you need to run along, baby.”
She skipped off, calling, “Bye, Mom!” Lizzie ran toward her, instantly whispering secrets. I forced myself across the grass, my pulse thudding in my ears. “Juliet?” My voice shook. “What are you doing here?” Juliet jumped, her eyes darting away. “Phoebe… I —” Before she could finish, the woman in the navy coat stepped forward. “You must be Salome’s mother,” she said quietly. “I’m Suzanne. We… we need to talk.”