Instead, I typed the address into my GPS and started driving.

The house was in a quiet suburban neighborhood.

When I knocked, the door opened—and the last person I expected stood there.

Pete.

All the color drained from his face.

“CAMILA??”

We hadn’t seen each other since the divorce.

Behind him, the woman from the daycare appeared, holding a baby boy in her arms. She looked at Pete, then at me, and said calmly,

“I’m glad you showed up… finally!”

“Alice, what’s going on?” Pete stammered. “How did she…?”

Ignoring him, I stepped inside.

A wall covered in framed photos greeted me—wedding pictures, Pete standing at an altar with that woman, the girls dressed alike on what looked like a honeymoon trip.

“Alice… why is Camila here?” Pete asked, voice shaking. “How did she even find this place?”

Alice kept her eyes on me. “Maybe it was meant to happen. Maybe fate wanted her to find them.”

Pete frowned. “Find them? What are you talking about?”

“She’s their mother. Maybe it’s time they went back to her.”

I felt the world tilt.

“What did you say?”

Alice met my gaze. “Those girls… they’re yours. The daughters you were told died.”

“Alice, stop,” Pete snapped quickly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But the fear in his voice gave him away.