The Hair in Sophie's Overnight Bag

For three seconds, Detective Harris didn't move.

Then she crouched in front of Sophie and asked the question I was too frightened to ask.

“What do you mean, sweetheart? What woman wore your face?””

Sophie clutched my hand.

“Mommy said she looked like me.””

“Did she mean the woman in the photograph?””

“No.””

“Did you ever meet this woman?””

Sophie shook her head.

“Did your mother tell you her name?””

Sophie stared at the floor.

“She said I wasn't supposed to know her name until I was older.””

Detective Harris exchanged a glance with Officer Bennett.

“Did she tell you why?””

Sophie nodded.

“She said the woman was the reason everything happened.””

I knelt beside her.

“Everything that happened to your mommy?””

Sophie shook her head.

“Everything that happened before I was born.””

The words settled over us like dust.

Daniel stood a few feet away, his face drained of color.

“Sophie,” he said carefully, “did your mother tell you anything else?””

She looked at him.

“You said Mommy was dead.””

He lowered his eyes.

“I know.””

“You said she went into the river.””

“I know.””

“You said I couldn't ask questions because it made you sad.””

Daniel swallowed.

“I know, sweetheart.””

She turned back to me.

“Can we go home?””

I wrapped my arms around her.

“Yes. We'll go home.””

Detective Harris agreed to let us leave, but she insisted that an officer accompany us. She also asked us not to discuss the case with anyone outside the investigation.

As we walked toward the parking lot, Daniel tried to take Sophie's hand.

She moved closer to me.

He stopped.

I watched him stand there with his hand suspended in the air, a father who had finally discovered that the damage he had done could not be repaired simply by admitting he had done it.

“Lily,” he said quietly.

“Not now.””

“I need to explain something.””

“Then explain it to the detective.””

He looked at Sophie.

She kept her eyes on the pavement.

For the first time, Daniel didn't insist that she look at him.

We returned to Chestnut Street shortly before noon.

The house looked exactly as it had the night before. The wedding flowers still stood in glass vases on the dining table. My bridal shoes lay beside the stairs. A half-eaten box of wedding cake sat on the kitchen counter.

The ordinary details made me feel as though I had stepped into someone else's life.

Sophie went upstairs to change.

I found Daniel in the kitchen, staring at the wedding photograph we had placed beside the refrigerator.

In it, he was kissing my cheek. Sophie stood between us, holding her flower basket and smiling so widely that her eyes had almost disappeared.

He touched the frame.

“I thought I could fix everything after the wedding,” he said.

I set my purse on the counter.

“What does that mean?””

He turned toward me.

“My mother told me the investigation would be closed once the death record was finalized. She said there would be no more questions, no more court hearings, no more people digging into Karen's past.””

“And you believed her.””

“I wanted to.””

“You keep saying that as if wanting something to be true makes it less dangerous.””

He looked down.

“I know.””

I waited.

Finally, he sat at the table.

“There was another reason my mother wanted Karen out of the picture.””

I remained standing.

“Tell me.””

He rubbed his hands together.

“Before Sophie was born, Karen worked for a company owned by my father's family. It handled private medical research and funded several clinics. My mother was on the board.””

“What kind of research?””

“Genetic research. Medical records. Family histories. Things like that.””

“Why would that matter to Karen?””

“She discovered irregularities in the records. People were being enrolled in studies without proper consent. Some of the paperwork had been altered.””

My stomach tightened.

“Was Sophie involved?””

“Not at first.””

“Daniel.””

He looked at me.

“I don't know how much Karen discovered. My mother said she was paranoid, that she had taken confidential files and was threatening to expose the company.””

“Did she?””

“I don't know.””

I stared at him.

“Did you ever ask her?””

He shook his head.

“No.””

“Why not?””

“Because by then, I believed my mother.””

I turned toward the window.

Outside, a delivery truck rolled past our house. A neighbor was watering a row of flowerpots on her porch.

The world continued to move.

“Tell me about the woman who wore Sophie's face,” I said.

Daniel went pale.

“I've never heard that phrase before.””

“But you know what it means.””

He didn't answer.

I walked toward him.

“Daniel, a child has spent nine months in our home believing her mother might be dead. She has hidden evidence in a stuffed rabbit because she was afraid of what would happen if anyone found it. Someone has apparently cleared out a building where people may have been held against their will. I need the truth.””

He looked at the wedding photograph again.

“My mother had a daughter before me.””

I stopped.

“What?””

“She was adopted by another family. Her name was Rebecca.””

I waited for him to continue.

“She died when she was young. My mother rarely talked about her.””

“How young?””

“Eight years old.””

The number seemed to echo in the room.

Sophie was eight.

I sat down slowly.

“Was Rebecca adopted?””

“Yes.””

“Did she look like Sophie?””

Daniel rubbed his forehead.

“I never saw a photograph of her.””

“Then how do you know she looked like Sophie?””

“Because my mother told me that Sophie reminded her of Rebecca. She said it was uncanny.””

I felt a cold sensation move through my chest.

“Why?””

“She said they had the same eyes, the same hair, the same way of tilting their heads when they were listening.””

I remembered the drawings in Sophie's homework. The careful little figure in the corner. The heart around my name.

“Did your mother ever call Sophie Rebecca?””

Daniel's expression changed.

I leaned forward.

“Did she?””

“Once.””

“When?””

“During a visit last spring. Sophie was wearing a blue dress, and Mother told her she looked just like someone she had lost.””

“What did Sophie say?””

“She asked who.””

“And your mother?””

Daniel looked away.

“She said, 'Someone who should have stayed with us.''”

I felt sick.

Before I could ask another question, footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Sophie appeared in the doorway, wearing jeans and a yellow sweater.

She had her stuffed rabbit tucked beneath one arm.

“Lily?””

“Yes, sweetheart?””

“Can I show you something?””

She held out the rabbit.

I took it carefully.

“What is it?””

She pointed to the seam along its back.

“Mommy told me there was something inside.””

I looked at Daniel.

He stood abruptly.

“Let me see.””

Sophie stepped back.

“No.””

Her answer was immediate.

Daniel stopped.

I sat beside her and examined the rabbit. The seam was slightly uneven, as if someone had opened it and stitched it closed again.

I found a small pair of scissors in the kitchen drawer and carefully loosened three stitches.

Inside the stuffing was a narrow strip of folded paper, wrapped in clear plastic.

I pulled it out.

The paper contained a photograph of two little girls.

They looked almost identical.

Both had dark, wavy hair, large eyes, and small, pointed chins. One wore a pale blue dress. The other wore a white blouse with a red ribbon tied around her collar.

On the back, someone had written two names.

*Rebecca Mercer — age eight.*

*Sophie Mercer — age eight.*

Beneath the names was a date from eleven years earlier.

I stared at it.

“That can't be right.””

Daniel took the photograph from me.

His hands began to shake.

“Where did Karen get this?””

Sophie looked at him.

“Mommy said Grandma kept it in a locked drawer.””

“Did she tell you who the other girl was?””

Sophie nodded.

“She said she was my aunt.””

Daniel stared at the photograph.

“My sister.””

I looked at the date again.

Rebecca had supposedly died eleven years earlier.

But the photograph appeared to show two living children standing together, both wearing identical bracelets around their wrists.

I turned it over.

A second note had been tucked beneath the photograph.

It contained a reference number, a location, and a sentence written in Karen's handwriting.

*If Sophie ever sees this, tell her the truth: Rebecca did not die in the accident.*

The room seemed to tilt.

Daniel gripped the edge of the table.

“No.””

I read the sentence again.

“Your mother told you Rebecca died when she was eight.””

“She did.””

“Then who is the girl in this photograph?””

He shook his head.

“I don't know.””

Sophie looked at the picture.

“Mommy said Grandma took Rebecca away because she looked too much like me.””

Daniel turned toward her.

“Did she tell you where Rebecca went?””

Sophie nodded.

“She said the place had a different name before.””

“What name?””

Sophie reached into her pocket and removed the folded note from Bellweather House.

She pointed to the address.

“Mommy said this is where they kept her.””

Daniel stared at the paper.

Then he whispered something I barely heard.

“That's impossible.””

I looked at him.

“Why?””

He raised his eyes to mine.

“Because Rebecca's death certificate was signed by the same doctor who authorized Karen's transfer.””

A knock sounded at the front door.

All three of us froze.

The officer stationed outside entered the kitchen.

“Mrs. Mercer? Detective Harris is on the phone.””

I took the receiver.

“What's happened?””

“Lily, we have a problem,” she said.

“Our team found a second set of records at Bellweather House. One of them contains a photograph of a woman who appears to be alive and who has been using a different identity.””

“Is it Karen?””

“We haven't confirmed that.””

“What about Rebecca?””

There was a pause.

“That's why I'm calling.””

My grip tightened around the phone.

Detective Harris continued.

“We found a recent intake photograph attached to a file marked with the name Rebecca Mercer.””

I stared at Daniel.

He looked as though he might collapse.

“How recent?”” I asked.

“Six weeks ago.””