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doing what did. close my eyes, thinking of Nana, so frail,
so fragile; of Sarah, so warm and loving. Neither of them
deserves this.
And it’s all my fault. opened this can of worms, and
now they’re everywhere, squirming wildly, ripping apart
everything love, totally out of my control. sigh heavily.
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But not yet—Holly’s not there yet, reason. There’s
still time. She won’t land for another six hours. Maybe
she’ll change her mind
Yeah, sigh. And maybe the moon really is made of
cheese.
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Holly
wake with
jolt as the seat belt sign pings on.
pull off my eye mask and squint around the cabin.
Morning light streams through the tiny windows, and
there, below, is London.
rub my eyes, staring at the
famous landmarks unfolding beneath me—the London
Eye, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace—it’s like dream.
This is my dream,
think wistfully. Here
am,
traveling at last. rest my hand on my stomach. Though
not quite the way pla
By the time check into hotel, I’m exhausted—jet
lag, suppose. I’ve made it as far as Maybridge, the nearest
big town to Bramberley, but thought it might be better to
leave the meet-and-greet until I’ve freshened up. One
glance at the hotel mirror, and I’m glad did: I’m
total
mess.
flop down on the bed and stare at the little address
book.
Nana The word tingles on my tongue. She’s so close
now—just the next village, just the other end of that
phone
could call her, think, the idea dancing in my mind.
Just to make sure have the right address
pick up the
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receiver, pushing the buttons tentatively—the code that
will unlock my history—then hold my breath as it rings.
“Hello?”
pleasant voice sings. “Laura Fisher’s
residence.”
can’t breathe, paralyzed by the sound of her voice.
“Hello?” she says again. “Is anyone there?”
put the phone down quickly, my heart racing. It’s
her. She’s real. My nana
And I’m going to find her.
Tomorrow I’ll find her.
bite my lip, fear mingling with my excitement.
Or maybe the day after.
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Rosie
stare at my mobile as sunlight begins to creep
across the ceiling: 5:05 a.m
Holly will be in England by now. She’s five hours
ahead—she might even be in Bramberley.
My skin prickles.
stare at the phone, trying to guess what’s going on
on the other side of the Atlantic.
could call Andy for the fiftieth time, check again if
he’s managed to get hold of Holly yet, to talk her out of
telling Nana
Yeah, right. Like anyone could talk her out of it. I’ve
never seen anyone more determined. And he’d have called
me if he had. sigh.
could always call Nana myself
It would be better
coming from me, better at least than hearing it from Holly,
stranger
even if that stranger is her granddaughter
pick up the phone, my hand shaking as dial the
familiar number, holding my breath as it rings.
Maybe she’s out. Maybe she’ll be out when Holly—
“Hello?” she says, her warm voice achingly familiar.
“Hello, Laura Fisher’s residence.”
can do this close my eyes, the phone trembling in
my hand. have to do this
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open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
“Hello?” she says impatiently. “Hello? Who is this?”
My throat constricts as struggle desperately, but
there are no words—how do start? How can even begin
to explain this whole horrible mess?
“Hello?”
drop the phone like
hot coal, burying my head
deep in my pillow.
can’t
can’t do it How can possibly tell her?
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Holly
stare at the sign as we drive past.
WELCOME TO BRAMBERLEY, TWINNED WITH
CHARMOINES-SUR-MER
shiver thrills through me. This is it. My
hometown—village, rather. gaze out the cab window as
the rolling green hills give way to rows of huddling
houses, then
duck pond and—no way!—a real live
castle! grin. Melissa would love this. It’s like traveling
back in time into whole other world, filled with fields of
sheep and cows, thatched cottages, rustic pubs,
large
stone church
“Wait!”
cry suddenly, turning to the cabdriver.
“Stop here, please!”
step out of the car and stare up at the tall gray
stone building with its enormous stained-glass windows
and large black clock face. follow the gravel path up to
the large iron gate and beyond, into graveyard scattered
with headstones.
My breath catches at every new stone as scan each
inscription nervously
And then, suddenly, there she is.
stare, mesmerized, at the stone, the letters fresh
and clear.
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GERTRUDE KENNING
BELOVED DAUGHTER, WIFE, AND MOTHER
Mother
“Mom …?” My heart suddenly constricts, crippled by
the crushing realization that no matter what do or where
go, this, here—a stone, patch of mud—is the closest I’ll
ever get to her.
stroke my fingers over the frozen soil, my tears
glistening on the infant grass.
She was my mother and we never even met. She
never knew me
She’ll never know me
“I’m here, Mom,” whisper. “I came back.”
Too late
The stone swims before me as
lean forward to
touch it—so smooth, so hard, so cold.
Just few weeks
realize wretchedly. missed her
by just few miserable weeks
“I miss you, Mom,” tell her, my voice shuddering in
the empty graveyard. “I miss you so much.”
The words blur as
trace them with shaking
fingertips.
D— A— V
Surprised, blink, focus.
DAVID KENNING
LOVING SON, HUSBAND, FATHER
Father
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My dad’s headstone as well as my mother’s—my
birth dad.
January 5th
My birthday. The year was born.
Guilt hits me without warning. Rosie never knew
her dad. She never had dad
The image of Dad at the airport burns in my head
and my heart twists painfully. I’ve had dad all this time,
my whole life, as real and as wonderful as any dad could
be, and
would have never known my birth father,
whatever happened. He died the night was born
The night we were born
shiver as imagine what it must have been like—
what it would be like if
was giving birth now and
discovered that Josh had been killed—if my baby was
ill
if it died
wave of overwhelming sadness floods through me
as gaze at the stone.
This— this is what started it all. Not greed, not
selfishness, not neglect—this tragedy. This is why Sarah switched us. This man—my dad—he died. If he hadn’t—if
there hadn’t been
storm
close my eyes, imagining
how she must’ve felt—my mom—how helpless, how
hopeless
worrying for her sick baby, grieving for her
dead husband
And now she’s dead too. They’re both dead. Here
we are, fighting over them, while they’re dead and gone.
We’ve both lost them. Forever.
And nothing can ever bring them back.