moment, no one in the room moved.
The photograph lay on the table between us like something alive.
Anna Bennett stood on a windy beach with both twins in her arms. Lily and Owen were babies then, bundled in pale blue blankets, their small faces turned toward the camera. Anna’s smile was tired but unmistakably real. Her hair whipped across one cheek, and one hand curved protectively around Owen’s back.
Behind her, half-hidden near the edge of the frame, stood Claire.
Not the grieving widow.
Not the overwhelmed stepmother.
Not the woman who had claimed Anna was gone.
Claire was smiling.
The kind of smile people gave when they believed the moment belonged to them.
Elise touched the edge of the photograph with gloved fingers and turned it over again.
The date on the back stared up at us.
Eight months ago.
I heard Lily’s small breath catch.
“She’s alive?”
