Whenever people talked about that night afterward, they focused on the miracle rather than the tragedy.
Nobody questioned what happened.
Neither did I.
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The doctors had given me an explanation, the paperwork supported it, and I wanted desperately to believe it. So I buried my grief as best I could and focused on raising Emma.
The years passed faster than I expected.
Emma grew into a bright, curious child who approached life like a puzzle waiting to be solved. She asked endless questions, loved books, and had a habit of taking things apart just to understand how they worked.
Lily grew up right alongside her.
The girls weren't just cousins; they were best friends. They attended the same schools, spent weekends together, and often seemed closer than sisters.
At first, nothing seemed unusual.
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Then people started noticing things.
The first comments were harmless.
One relative thought Lily had my eyes, another joked that she laughed exactly like I did, and someone else pointed out that she smiled the same way.
