He’d never told me her name.
Rachel.
I opened Marla’s profile and searched her friends list. There were four Rachels.
The third one made me stop. Her profile picture showed a woman about my age standing beside a freckled little girl. Carol.
I clicked her page and started scrolling.
There was something familiar there.
Nine years back, I found a photo of Rachel kissing Greg on a rooftop, both of them younger, both of them laughing.
Greg had mentioned a serious girlfriend before me once, years ago.
He’d never told me her name.
Finding Rachel explained the past.
Butit didn’t explain why my six-year-old had been inside her house.
I kept scrolling.
Then I scrolled forward and found Carol. Seven years old, freckled, grinning at the camera.
Something about her face made me stop.
I leaned closer to the screen.
There was something familiar there, but maybe I was seeing what I was already afraid of seeing.
