Chapter 3

The party was officially over. The guests, unsure how to react, offered awkward condolences and slipped away, leaving a mess of half-eaten cake and deflated balloons. The festive atmosphere had curdled into one of tension and confusion.

Lily sat on a velvet chair, staring at the floor, her face a mask of misery. The Johnsons had been escorted to a nearby waiting area by the restaurant manager, at David' s insistence, but their presence lingered in the room like a bad smell.

David knelt beside Lily, his face etched with concern. "Lily-bug, don't listen to them. It's okay. We're here."

"Are they really...?" Lily whispered, not looking at him. "Are they my parents?"

"We'll handle this," David said soothingly. "Forget about them. Let's talk about your condo! We can go see it tomorrow. And you can pick out the color for your new car. How about that cherry red you liked?"

He was trying to fix it the only way he knew how: with money, with gifts. He thought he could buy her happiness, plaster over this gaping wound with material possessions. In my last life, his efforts had only made things worse, making Lily feel like he was trying to buy her loyalty, which in a twisted way, he was.

I watched them from across the room, feeling nothing but a cold, detached sense of inevitability. My husband, the brilliant architect, was a complete fool when it came to our daughter. He couldn't see that pouring more money on the problem was like pouring gasoline on a fire.

Lily wasn't sad about the party being ruined. She was intoxicated by the drama, by the sudden appearance of a past she could romanticize, a "blood bond" that felt more real to her than two decades of actual, tangible love and support.

I saw the Johnsons being led back in by a reluctant manager. Brenda had clearly worked her magic on him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but she had a look of triumph.

They approached our table cautiously. "We just want to talk to our daughter," Brenda said softly, looking at David and me as if we were the kidnappers.

Lily stood up. "I want to talk to them," she said, her voice surprisingly firm.

Before David could protest, I spoke. "Fine. Let's all sit down and talk."

David shot me a look of disbelief, but I ignored him. Better to have this out in the open.

We all sat at the large, empty table. It felt like a bizarre negotiation.

"Lily," Brenda began, her voice dripping with fake emotion. "Your father and I... we were so young. We had nothing. We were told you'd have a better life with... with them." She gestured vaguely at David and me. "But not a day went by that we didn't think of you."

Lily looked at me, her eyes full of questions. "Is it true? Did you know they were looking for me?"

"No," I said, my voice flat and even. "That's not what happened, Lily."

David jumped in. "Honey, we've always been honest with you. Your biological mother left you at a hospital. There was a note saying she couldn't care for you. No name, no contact information. The social workers considered it a case of abandonment and neglect. You were malnourished and sick. We adopted you from the state foster care system six months later."

This was the truth. The unvarnished, painful truth we had always been prepared to tell her when she was ready.

But Brenda was shaking her head, fresh tears streaming down her face. "No, no, that's not how it was! They told us it was a temporary arrangement! They said we could get you back when we were on our feet! They lied to us!"

It was a ridiculous, easily disproven lie. But Lily was already looking at us with suspicion.

"You never told me I was sick," Lily said, her voice accusing. "You just said I was a beautiful, healthy baby."

"We didn't want you to feel..." David started, but Lily cut him off.

"To feel what? Like I came from trash?" Her voice was sharp. The sweet, grateful daughter was gone, replaced by an angry, resentful stranger.

"That's not what he meant," I said calmly.

"Then what did he mean?" she snapped. She turned her gaze to Brenda and Gary. "They look for me for twenty-two years, and you tell me they abandoned me? Who am I supposed to believe?"

The question hung in the air. It was a choice between the people who had lied to her with a sob story and the people who had given her everything.

I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, who she was going to choose. She looked at Brenda's tear-streaked face and Gary's downcast eyes, and she saw victims. She looked at our comfortable clothes, our successful lives, and she saw villains who had stolen her from her "real" family.

Her expression softened as she looked at Brenda. "I believe you," she whispered.

And just like that, the battle was lost before it had even begun. Or rather, the battle I had already lost once was lost again. But this time, I wasn't a casualty. I was just an observer.