Until last week.
It started with a sharp knock on the front door.
When I opened it, a woman stood there wearing designer clothes and surrounded by a cloud of expensive perfume.
She smiled as if greeting an old friend.
“Hello, Margaret,” she said. “I’m Alicia. We met on the plane 18 years ago.”
The memory hit me instantly.
My stomach dropped.
She was the young woman who had sat beside me.
The one who had told me the babies needed someone.
“I’m also the mother of those twins you took from the plane,” she added casually.
Behind me, Ethan and Sophie had appeared halfway down the staircase.
They froze when they heard her words.
“You abandoned them,” I said, my voice tight.
Alicia shrugged lightly.
