Chapter 2

The next morning, I watched them.

Ashley and Emily at the breakfast table, picking at their food.

"Morning, Mom," Ashley chirped, her smile too bright.

Emily mumbled a greeting, eyes downcast.

"Morning, girls," I said, keeping my voice even, friendly. "Feeling okay?"

Ashley' s hand went to her stomach, a fleeting, protective gesture.

"Just a bit tired," she said. "Lots of college prep, you know."

"Yeah, super tired," Emily echoed.

I feigned motherly concern. "You both seem a little off. Maybe you' re coming down with something?"

Ashley' s eyes flickered, a tiny spark of alarm before her mask was back in place. "No, we're fine. Just stress."

Emily nodded, avoiding my gaze.

They were already pregnant. I knew it.

In my previous life, I' d been oblivious until the school called.

This time, I saw the subtle signs. The slight queasiness, the fatigue they tried to hide.

Later that day, while they were out, supposedly at the library, I went online.

Micro-cameras. Small, discreet. Easy to hide.

I ordered three. One for the living room, one for Ashley' s room, one for Emily' s.

My hands shook as I typed in my credit card details.

This felt wrong, invasive.

But what choice did I have?

They had invaded our lives, destroyed our reputations, taken my life.

This was self-defense.

The cameras arrived two days later in a plain brown box.

Mark was at work. The girls were at a "study group."

Perfect.

I moved quickly, methodically.

One camera tucked behind a bookshelf in the living room, aimed at the main sofa.

Another hidden among the stuffed animals on Ashley' s dresser.

The last one on Emily' s desk, disguised as a USB charger.

I tested them, connecting to the live feed on my phone.

Clear picture. Clear sound.

Then, I made a show of leaving.

"Girls, I' m heading out for a couple of hours!" I called up the stairs, though I knew they weren't home yet. "Need to run some errands for work!"

I drove to a coffee shop a few blocks away, my phone clutched in my hand.

Waiting.

My stomach churned.

What if I was wrong? What if this was all just a horrific, PTSD-fueled nightmare?

But the memory of the fire, the pain, it was too real.

An hour later, my phone buzzed. Motion detected in the living room.

Ashley and Emily.

They were laughing, lounging on the sofa.

Normal.

Then, Emily leaned her head on Ashley' s shoulder.

Ashley stroked her hair.

My breath caught.

It was the intimacy that got to me first.

More than sisterly.

Then, the conversation shifted.

"He' ll never suspect," Ashley said, her voice low, confident.

"Are you sure this will work?" Emily whispered. "What about... you know... Mark?"

Ashley laughed, a cold, chilling sound. "Mark' s a non-issue. They' ll believe us. They always believe the crying teenagers."

My blood ran cold.

They were talking about the plan. Their plan.

The feed from Ashley' s room activated. They' d moved.

I watched, my heart pounding, as they sat on Ashley' s bed.

Emily looked nervous. Ashley was reassuring her.

Then, Ashley stood up, unbuttoning her jeans.

My eyes widened. I almost dropped the phone.

Ashley.

She had...

Male genitalia.

Fully formed.

It wasn' t a trick of the light. It wasn' t a misunderstanding.

Ashley, our adopted daughter, assigned female at birth, the girl who wore dresses and makeup.

Was biologically male, at least in that crucial aspect.

My mind reeled.

How? Why didn' t we know?

The adoption agency...

The pieces started to click into place, horrifyingly.

The pregnancies.

It wasn' t Mark.

It couldn't have been Mark.

It was Ashley.