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?”