“What happened to her?”
Douglas’s eyes returned to mine.
“She disappeared in September 1987.”
The same month the baby vanished.
The same month my father arranged a private adoption.
And the same month my mother had been photographed holding a newborn beneath two names that belonged to Douglas and me.
Douglas’s voice fell to a whisper.
“No one ever found her.”
On the phone, Benjamin suddenly inhaled sharply.
I gripped the receiver.
“What happened?”
For a moment he didn’t answer.
Then I heard a sound from inside my house.
A floorboard creaking.
Benjamin whispered, “Hannah…”
“What?”
“The woman in the photograph.”
My fingers went numb.
“What about her?”
“There’s a mirror behind her.”
I waited.
“In the reflection,” Benjamin said, “someone is taking the picture.”
“Who?”
He went silent.
Then he said, “I think it’s your mother.”
I stared at the hospital wall.
That didn’t make sense.
