Chapter 4

Stefan's expression changed instantly. "What happened to your hair?"

I reached up and straightened my wig but said nothing.

My mother scrambled to her feet to smooth things over. "She hasn't been well lately, that's all. She's just losing some hair. Don't scare the baby."

Rachel gently rocked the baby and kept up her act of concern. "Lauren's gotten so thin lately too. Her complexion looks terrible."

I didn't look at her. My gaze slid past them all and settled on the end of the hallway.

Natalie's door stood open, but the room beyond it was empty. The bed, toys, and desk were gone. Even the stickers had been peeled from the walls, every last one. It was as if she had never existed at all.

Stefan noticed it too. His face changed at once as he stared into the room. "Why is Natalie's room empty?"

My mother's expression froze.

My stepfather spoke up. "She's staying somewhere else for a few days."

"Staying where?"

"At a friend's place."

"Which friend?"

My mother immediately cut in, "Why all the questions? Natalie is fine."

Stefan clearly didn't believe her. He started toward the hallway.

Rachel spoke up. "Let's not get into that right now. No one's eaten yet, and my sister looks tired too. Why don't we get something to eat first?"

My mother immediately jumped in. "Right, let's eat first. You're quick in the kitchen, so why don't you make some pasta?"

My stepfather nodded in agreement. "Rachel's still recovering from childbirth, and Stefan's had a long day. They can't go hungry."

I stood there in silence for a long moment.

They had walked into my home, sat there cradling another woman's baby in my daughter's place, emptied my daughter's room, and now they wanted me to cook for them.

The most absurd part was how naturally they all said it, as if serving them was simply what I existed to do.

I said nothing. I turned and walked into the kitchen.

The water quickly came to a boil. I stood at the stove and listened to the laughter and chatter drifting in from the living room. My hand slowly tightened.

Today was Natalie's birthday.

Five years ago, on this very day, she had waited for her father to come home and blow out the candles with her. Every year after that, she refused to even mention her birthday.

When she was little, nothing made her happier than having me cook her favorite birthday meal. She always insisted on an extra hard boiled egg because she said it meant her mom and dad would stay with her a little longer.

I took the last of the ingredients from the cupboard and quietly prepared a plate.

One egg and two stalks of greens. Exactly the way she used to like it.

I hadn't made it for anyone out there. I only wanted to place the plate in front of her memorial photo and tell her that her mother remembered.

When I carried the plate out, my mother was the first to frown. "Why is there only one plate? What about everyone else?"

I ignored her and walked toward the altar.

Stefan stared at the plate in my hands, and his expression abruptly shifted. He had probably finally remembered what day it was.

But after only two steps, my vision went dark.

I had barely eaten anything these past few days, and I had pushed myself for far too long. My body had finally reached its limit. The plate burned against my hands, and my legs weakened with every step.

Somewhere behind me, someone stood up and called my name.

Step by step, I made it to the door of my daughter's room.

The next second, I pitched forward.

The plate shattered against the floor, spilling Natalie's birthday meal everywhere.

Stefan rushed forward and caught me.

At the same moment, the door was pushed wider.

I collapsed against him, barely able to keep my eyes open. Yet even then, I remembered a day years ago when I was five months pregnant and nearly fell at a shopping mall. He had rushed toward me just like this and held me tightly, asking repeatedly whether I was hurt.

Back then, I had believed with all my heart that he would protect me and our child for the rest of our lives.

Looking back now, it was almost funny.

What I had been carrying in my hands was my dead daughter's favorite meal. And the child Stefan had held most often in his arms was the one Rachel had given him.

As my consciousness slipped away bit by bit, the living room finally erupted into chaos.

I heard Stefan's trembling voice. "Why is Natalie's memorial photo in this room?"

I no longer had the strength to answer.