Chapter 3

Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton stepped out of the car.

They looked older, lines etched around their eyes and mouths, but just as cold.

Mr. Hamilton' s gaze swept over the squalor of Brenda' s yard, his lip curling slightly.

Mrs. Hamilton clutched a handkerchief to her nose, as if the very air was an offense.

"Mrs. Miller?" Mr. Hamilton' s voice was clipped, impatient.

"Yes, yes! And this... this is your Ava!" Brenda pushed Ashley forward.

Ashley stumbled, trying to look fragile. She sniffled. "Mommy? Daddy?"

Mrs. Hamilton stared at Ashley, her eyes narrowed. There was no flicker of recognition, no motherly warmth. Only calculation.

Mr. Hamilton walked closer, circling Ashley like a buyer inspecting livestock.

Ashley fidgeted under his gaze.

"The birthmark," Mrs. Hamilton said, her voice flat. "On her left shoulder. A small, star-shaped mark."

Brenda' s smile faltered. "Oh, well, you know, children grow, things fade..."

Ashley looked panicked. She didn't have any such mark.

Mr. Hamilton' s face hardened. "She is not Ava."

The words hung in the hot, dusty air.

Brenda' s face crumpled. "But... the resemblance! She' s been through so much trauma..."

"Enough," Mr. Hamilton cut her off. He looked disgusted.

They took Ashley anyway. Maybe for a blood test, a desperate, last-ditch hope.

A week later, the black car returned.

It spat Ashley out onto the dirt.

She was a wreck. Her eyes were hollow, her arm in a crude sling. She whimpered when Brenda touched her.

"They... they hurt me, Mama," Ashley cried, actual tears this time. "They said I wasn't a match. They were angry."

Brenda stared at her daughter, her dreams of riches turning to dust. There was no pity in her eyes, only fury at the failed investment.

"Useless," Brenda spat at Ashley.

This was my moment.

I stepped out of the trailer's shadow, the silver locket in my palm.

"Mrs. Hamilton," I said, my voice clear and steady.

Eleanor Hamilton turned, her eyes dismissive until she saw the locket. Her breath hitched.

"That... that was mine."

"You lost it," I said. "I found it. In the west garden, near the old oak."

I saw a flicker of something in her eyes. Memory.

"Ava had a birthmark," I continued, my voice even. "Star-shaped. Left shoulder. And she was allergic to strawberries, not shellfish like the papers said. She told me."

Mr. Hamilton stared at me, his mind racing. Desperation warred with suspicion.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"I was her friend," I said. "Before. And I know things only Ava would know."

Clara must be worse, I thought. Much worse, for them to consider this.

They were desperate.

Mrs. Hamilton reached out a trembling hand towards the locket. "It is you... Ava?"

I didn't correct her. Not yet.

Let them believe what they needed to believe.

Mr. Hamilton made a curt gesture. "Get in the car."

Brenda watched, her face a mask of stunned disbelief and then, pure, impotent rage as I walked away from her, towards them.

I didn' t look back.