“There’s something else,” she breathed.
“What is it?” I asked.
She closed her eyes, then opened them again and looked at me so intensely it made the back of my neck prickle.
“Rebecca,” she whispered. “Keep a close eye on her. Okay?”
“Of course,” I said, thinking she meant because Becca was the baby.
I didn’t understand that sentence was a warning.
Not about Becca.
About what Becca meant.
After Rachel died, we did what we said we’d do.
Overnight, we became parents of six.
The house got louder.
Messier.
Smaller.
And somehow… fuller.
The kids grew into each other like roots.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was real.
After a few years, I finally started believing we’d made it.
And that’s when the knock came.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
