I followed my daughter’s gaze.
I forced myself across the grass, my pulse thudding in my ears. “Marla?” My voice shook. “What are you doing here?”
Marla jumped, her eyes darting away. “Phoebe… I —”
Before she could finish, the woman in the navy coat stepped forward. “You must be Junie’s mother,” she said quietly. “I’m Suzanne. We… we need to talk.”
I stared at her, my fury and fear fighting for space.
“How long have you known, Suzanne?”
“What are you doing here?”
Her face crumpled. “Two years. Lizzy needed blood after an accident, and my husband and I weren’t matches. I started digging. I found the altered record.”
“Two years,” I repeated. “You had two years to knock on my door.”
