As Isla and Victor approached the kitchen, the bustling sounds of her family filled the air. The aroma of her mother’s cooking wafted through the room, but the warmth of the moment was quickly overshadowed by the tension that hung in the air. Just as they entered, her sister, Claire, was the first to spot them.
“Isla!” Claire exclaimed, her voice a mix of surprise and skepticism. She stood with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. “What are you doing here?”
Before Isla could respond, their mother turned from the stove, her eyes widening in concern. “Isla dear, are you okay? Where have you been? Why didn’t you even call us for the last three years?” Her mother’s voice was filled with a mixture of worry and reproach, and for a moment, Isla felt a flicker of hope. Maybe her mother had missed her, maybe she had misunderstood her all along.
But that moment was fleeting. Claire stepped forward, her tone sharp. “Careful, Mom. We don’t know if she’s the real Isla or not. Imposters are
