So it became just me and Wren after that, the two of us building a small, careful life together in Fernbrook, far enough from where the twins had been born that I could almost convince myself, most days, that the past belonged to a different town entirely.
On her first day of kindergarten this fall, Wren came home, dropped her backpack by the door, and announced, completely matter-of-fact, “Mom, pack one more lunchbox tomorrow.”
“For who?” I asked, only half paying attention while I unpacked groceries.
“For my sister.”
I laughed, nervous in a way I didn’t fully understand yet.
“You don’t have a sister at school, sweetheart.”
Wren frowned at me like I was the one being unreasonable.
“Yes, I do. She sits beside me. Her name is Lizzy.”
My blood ran cold instantly.
I had never once told Wren that name. Not Elisa, not any shortened version of it, not in six years of carefully avoiding the subject entirely.
