by Amber Garza
If she could be alone, quiet all the outside voices, she was certain she’d discover it.
36
SUNDAY, 6:45 A.M.
OVER THIRTY-SEVEN HOURS
AFTER DROP-OFF
THE CEMETERY WAS SMALL, covered in bright green grass and enclosed with a black barbed wire fence. Surrounding it was a street with large, sprawling homes. Some of the gravestones were intricate. Decorative statues. Some were covered in flowers, others toys or keepsakes. The girls stood almost directly in the center of the cemetery in front of a flat grave site, no headstone at all.
As Whitney approached, walking carefully so as not to alert them before she had to, she heard them talking in low whispers. But she couldn’t make out their words. They stood the same, arms by their sides, shoulders slightly hunched forward. Unlike Whitney, Amelia had never had great posture. Then again, Whitney refused to nag her about it the way her own mother had done to her. In Whitney’s mind, there were much more important things to harp on.
A leaf crunched under her foot. Both girls turned. It was startling how much they looked alike. Whitney wondered how she hadn’t noticed it before. Then again, it wasn’t something she would’ve ever considered. And it wasn’t pervasive. Most of their features were different. But they did have the same heart-shaped lips, a similar build, almond-shaped eyes. That wasn’t what struck her now, though. It was their stance, legs apart, shoulders forward. It was the way they held their mouths in a tight line, their eyebrows furrowed. They hadn’t been raised together and yet they were alike in their mannerisms.
It left Whitney slightly unnerved.
She cleared her throat, ventured a step forward. “Amelia.” The word came out tiny, splintered, a leaf falling to the soft grass.
“Mom,” Amelia breathed out the word, her expression a mixture of relief and need. For one second she was Whitney’s little girl. She even stepped forward as if she would run straight into Whitney’s arms like she’d done after her first day of preschool. But then all of a sudden she halted, her face hardening. Whitney’s stomach sank.
“What are you doing here?” Lauren’s sharp voice rang out.
“I came to...” she paused, swallowing hard before continuing “...to get Amelia.”
At that Amelia took a step backward, moved closer to Lauren. Whitney couldn’t help but notice the look of triumph on Lauren’s face.
The grass was wet, soaking into Whitney’s thin shoes. A chill worked its way through her bones as a slight breeze kicked up around her.
Hugging herself, she spoke gently. “Amelia, you have no idea how worried I’ve been.” Reaching out her arm, she beckoned her daughter forward. “Come on, it’s time to come home.”
“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Lauren snapped.
Frowning, Whitney turned to Lauren. “I think she can speak for herself.”
Lauren’s lips curled upward. She lifted her chin. “I told her the truth about you.”
Whitney pinned Lauren with a challenging stare. “What exactly do you think that is?”
Whitney’s response seemed to throw Lauren off-kilter a bit. Her gaze faltered, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth. “It’s not what I think,” she finally said. “It’s what I know.”
But Whitney wasn’t backing down. This girl couldn’t know everything. It was impossible.
She cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah, what’s that?”
Amelia stepped forward, her gaze catching Whitney’s. “She says I’m her sister, and my real name’s Bethany.” Her lower lip quivered. “She says that you stole me, but that’s a lie, right? I mean, it can’t be true. It’s crazy. Isn’t it?” Her pitch got higher with each word, reminding Whitney of when she was small and begging to get her way.
“It is crazy. You’re right. Of course I didn’t steal you.”
Amelia’s head lifted, her lips twitching at the corners.
Lauren’s mouth hardened into a straight line. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re lying. I know Amelia’s my sister. I have proof.”
Whitney thought about the torn-out journal page, the random picture on Amelia’s dresser and it hit her. Lauren must have planted them. And if she had to make an educated guess, she’d say that Lauren had gone through her dresser drawers too. “I never stole your sister. But you stole from me, didn’t you? Took money from my house. My bedroom.”
“Th-th-that’s not what this is about,” Lauren sputtered, thrown by the shift in conversation.
“What money?” Amelia asked.
Whitney was grateful to have gotten the conversation off of her for now. “I had an envelope of money in my underwear drawer. It’s gone now.”
“But Lauren didn’t take it.” Amelia shook her head, faced her sister. “Did you?”
“Not all of us are born with everything, Mills.” Lauren flung her arms upward with exasperation. “And that’s nothing compared to all you’ve taken from me. My sister. My mom.”
Whitney held up a hand. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re the reason my mom’s dead.”
Whitney felt her hackles rising. “I never hurt your mom. She was my best friend”
“But you’re the reason she’s dead,” Lauren said. “Do you have any idea how awful my life has been? What it was like being bounced around foster homes? Did you ever even think about me?”
Whitney’s stomach sank. The truth was, she hadn’t. Lauren was simply a child she’d met a couple of times. As ashamed as she was to admit it, she hadn’t factored her in at all.
“I’m so sorry, Lauren, for all that you’ve been through,” Whitney said. “I am, but it’s not because of me. You’re blaming the wrong person.”
“Stop lying. I know the truth,” Lauren said, but her tone lacked the conviction it had earlier. Even Amelia appeared to be wondering, leaning in closer.
“You know a portion. But you don’t know the whole story, Lauren.” She looked into Amelia’s eyes. “I know this is all really confusing, but if you give me a chance, I can explain everything to you.”
“We don’t have time,” Lauren said. “We’re on our way out of town on a sisters’ road trip. Trying to cram in time together to make up for all the years you took from us.”
“A road trip? That was your plan?” Whitney scrambled to put the pieces together in her mind. When she’d figured out it was Lauren who had Amelia, she’d imagined the plot was much more sinister. Some type of revenge scheme. Going to the police or turning Amelia against her. Then she thought about Amelia’s phone being off, the confusing items left in the house, Lauren pointedly calling Amelia “Millie” in front of her. Her gaze shot to Lauren. “You planted the journal entry of your mom’s in my room. The one she wrote about the night I OD’d.” Lauren nodded, and she took it as permission to continue. “And the photo of me and Millie on Amelia’s dresser.” Again, Lauren nodded. “You wanted me to find all of that once you and Amelia were out of town to hurt me. To make me think I’d lost my daughter. That she’d found out the truth and taken off.”
Lauren didn’t respond, but Whitney caught the twitch in the corner of her mouth. She was trying not to smile.
“The trip isn’t about you,” Amelia said. “Not everything is about you, Mom.”
“Then why turn off your phone? Why the elaborate plot of being dropped off at some elderly couple’s home?” She looked to Lauren again. She still couldn’t quite figure it out. “What were you hoping I’d do, Lauren?”
“I don’t know. Feel some remorse,” she said. “I’ve had to live with what you did my entire life. But when I met you and Amelia, it was clear that you weren’t suffering. You didn’t feel bad. You have everything you ever wanted. So, yeah, I guess I kinda wanted to take that away. Make you feel something. Anything, close to what I felt.”
Whitney knew Lauren was hurting. She couldn’t even imagine
what Lauren’s life had been like. On the one hand, it made her so happy that she’d spared Amelia that life. But on the other hand, she felt bad for what Lauren had endured.
Amelia recoiled, her eyes narrowing. “I um...I didn’t know all this. Honestly, I just couldn’t deal anymore. After Lauren told me who she was, I didn’t know what to think. Who to believe. I don’t know if I am who she says I am, but I do know you’ve kept things from me. You’re not exactly who I thought, and—” She looked straight at Whitney. “It’s all just too much. I needed a break.”
“I get that,” Whitney said to her. Then she turned to Lauren. “And I understand how you’re feeling too.” Lauren scoffed at this, rolling her eyes. Whitney held up her hand. “No, I do. And you’re wrong. I have suffered. I’ve felt loss and sadness and, yeah, sometimes remorse. But not for the things you think. If you’d both just hear what I have to say. Listen to what really happened, you’d understand.”
“No one wants to hear a sob story from a liar,” Lauren sneered. But Amelia’s stance relaxed a bit, her eyes peering upward.
“I...umm...kinda wanna hear what she has to say,” Amelia practically whispered.
Relief flowed through Whitney’s chest. She’d never wanted to tell Amelia the truth about who she was and how Whitney had gotten her. But now she had no choice.
And she was ready.
37
SO HERE WE ARE. The part of the story I’ve been dreading the most. I never wanted you to find out. Certainly, not this way. Not because I didn’t think you deserved the truth, but because I was trying to protect you. And I fear that this will only hurt you.
But I don’t have a choice, do I?
You already know most of it, and at this point you’re thinking the worst anyway. I might as well come clean.
Dan wasn’t there when you were born, Amelia. He was on a business trip when I went into labor. He tried his best to get home in time, but had trouble getting an earlier flight.
My mom was there for part of the time, but I sent her home early. She was being so judgmental. She and Dad had been at the house that morning when Dan and I came back from Millie’s. They heard Dan’s accusations, and, of course, sided with him. With my track record, no one ever believed me.
But nothing had happened—ever—between Mitch and me. Dan was the only man I’d ever been with.
I finally told him everything. What a liar I’d been. How Mitch was never mine. How I’d made it all up. My biggest fear was that he’d leave me when he knew the ugly truth. But the funny thing is he didn’t even believe me.
He continued to believe the lie.
I guess I had only myself to blame for that one. My mother always said I should become an actress. Maybe she’d been right.
Your father and I stayed together, despite his accusations. He loved the moral high ground and felt forever entitled to hold this over my head. I was no longer the damsel who needed rescuing, but the witch he felt compelled to punish. You can see why our marriage was doomed.
Anyway, your timing was a surprise. You came weeks early, and he was away on a business trip. But my mom kept making little jabs at me during labor. Stuff about how she knew the real reason Dan wasn’t there.
I couldn’t bring you into the world with that kind of negativity. I knew the truth. I’d told the truth. And I didn’t deserve those accusations.
You certainly didn’t.
I gave birth the same way I always raised you. Alone. Independent. And after the birth, I felt this rush of love unlike anything I’d ever felt before. More love than I’d ever felt for my parents or Kevin, Millie or even Dan. I was responsible for a whole human life and it felt crushing, scary and exhilarating all at once.
As these thoughts were swirling through my head, the oddest thing happened.
I looked out the doorway, as a heavily pregnant woman waddled by, clearly in labor and trying to move things along by walking. She glanced up at me. Our eyes met. With a pained expression she reached her hand up slightly to wave. I smiled and waved back.
It was Millie.
* * *
By the middle of that night, Dan still hadn’t arrived. Stuck on a layover in Chicago, I think. It was March, after all. He said the snow was forecast to continue through morning. At that point, I wasn’t sure when he’d be back. I was exhausted. I’d been awake for hours. Labor. Pushing. The high of holding this perfect sweet new being. Feeding. Baby crying. Finally, we both fell asleep. It wasn’t very long, but it was glorious.
I awoke to a noise. Someone in my room. At first, I assumed it was a nurse. But then I opened my eyes and saw Millie standing next to my hospital bed cradling a baby in her arms.
“Sorry I woke you,” she said. “I just wanted to introduce you to Bethany.”
I was so glad she’d sought me out. After seeing her in the doorway earlier, I’d been hoping I’d get a chance to see her. Groggy, I hoisted myself up to a seated position and waved away her apology.
I said, “Come meet my Amelia.”
I’ll never forget the smile on her face then.
I was certain she was remembering the same conversation I was. Back when we first became friends, I asked her if Millie was short for Amelia. We’d been lying in the grass out by the quad during lunch. Staring up through the bare branches of the tree above us, Millie got this wistful look on her face. She said something like, Can you imagine me as an Amelia? What kind of life would I have? I’d probably wear bows in my hair and cute dresses. Have two parents who love me, and a room decorated in all pink.
I’d laughed then, but I honestly thought it sounded amazing.
No, my real name’s not Millie, she explained. It’s Tawny Milligan. But a childhood friend used to call me Millie and it just stuck.
That night in the hospital room, Millie told me that she believed my Amelia would have that life we’d fantasized about.
It was when Millie made her way over to the bassinet that I first noticed something was wrong. She noticed it too. Reaching into the bassinet, I grabbed my baby out. She wasn’t breathing.
I didn’t want to believe it. It didn’t even seem possible. How could a healthy baby just die?
She was so still. Cold.
I looked for any signs of life, but there were none. I knew then that there was no bringing her back. And it felt like my heart had been ripped out. It was way worse than when we lost Kevin or when Millie was torn from my life.
I remember I kept rocking back and forth, muttering “oh, my God” under my breath. I wanted to scream. To yell. But it was like my body wouldn’t let me. Like that reaction was so foreign I wouldn’t know how to attempt it. Millie said I was in shock. I’d never felt pain like I did in that moment. It was all-consuming. Honestly, I wanted to die too. I had no idea how I’d ever get past it.
The horror, the reality, began to set in and I began to panic out loud. I told Millie to push the nurse’s button because she was closer.
But Millie got this strangled look on her face—a mixture of pain, grief and then stubborn resolution—and told me to stay calm. To stay quiet. She dragged the curtain closed around my bed. I didn’t know why. I’m not even sure I fully registered it at that moment, I was so fixated on my baby.
And then she presented me with a crazy plan.
A plan to switch our babies.
Of course, I said no at first. I didn’t want her baby. I wanted mine.
“But yours is gone,” Millie pointed out. “Nothing you can do will bring her back.”
I knew she was right, but I didn’t want to believe it. I tried everything. Pressing on her little chest, breathing into her mouth the way I’d seen people do CPR on TV. But Millie stopped me and hugged me, held me. Telling me we were running out of time. Her gaze kept shooting to the door. There was a wildness in her eyes, but also a determination.
“Come on, Whit. You’ve always s
aid you wanted to help me. Now’s your chance,” she said, her tone desperate. “Things have gotten worse with Mitch, okay? I’ll never be safe from him, but she can be. You can make sure she is.”
Even stricken by grief over my own child, I could see it then. Everything I’d done. The good and the bad, finally turning into something good.
I remember looking at you in Millie’s arms. You were so beautiful. And I knew in that moment, I could love you. Raise you. Give you a good life. Save you.
I could still have everything I’d ever wanted.
When I looked up into Millie’s eyes staring at me with desperation, I knew I couldn’t say no. I never could say no to her.
So, we did it. Millie switched the tags.
I cried and kissed my baby goodbye one last time.
You became my Amelia.
I remember Millie standing in the doorway, holding my still baby in her arms, and she made me promise to always keep you safe.
I kept the promise I made to her that day. I’ve always kept you safe.
38
SUNDAY, 8:00 A.M.
THIRTY-NINE HOURS
AFTER DROP-OFF
LAUREN COULD TELL Amelia was buying Whitney’s story. But she didn’t. There was no way her mom would give up her baby. She remembered that day in the hospital. Her mom was glowing with happiness. The love she felt for her daughter radiating off of her. No way would she just hand her over to someone else.
Then again, there were aspects of Whitney’s story that rang true, like her dad’s abuse.
As a child, there were times when she thought her dad was the best. Funny. Loud. Boisterous. He’d play toys with her, making up funny voices for all her characters. And he’d take her to the park and push her on the swing. But on his dark days, there was no laughing or playing with toys. He’d yell at Lauren, telling her to keep it down. Once, she’d built a huge Lego tower. It took her days to finish. And he struck it down in one second. She still remembered being on the ground on her knees, desperately trying to gather up all the pieces.
