Mrs. Greene frowned, adjusting her spectacles. “That’s odd. I could have sworn I’ve seen her coming back to the house during the day. Around nine or so. And… well, sometimes she’s not alone. I’ve seen her with other children.”

My heart dropped like a stone into deep water. “That can’t be right,” I insisted, though my voice lacked conviction. “You must be mistaken. Maybe it’s a neighbor’s kid who looks like her.”

“Perhaps,” Mrs. Greene murmured, though her eyes remained unconvinced. “Just thought you should know.”

I drove to work in a haze. The uneasiness in my chest was not a flutter; it was a heavy, cold weight. I tried to rationalize it. Mrs. Greene is getting older. Her eyesight is failing. But as the miles blurred beneath my tires, I couldn’t ignore the subtle shifts I had been dismissing for weeks.

Lily had been quieter. Her appetite, once robust, had dwindled to picking at her dinner. There were dark circles under her eyes that concealer couldn’t quite hide. I had chalked it up to the academic rigor of middle school, the growth spurts, the hormones.

But what if it was something else?