She must have heard the panic in my voice, because she arrived twenty minutes later, still in her nursing scrubs. I had put Mason to bed in the spare room, and he was fast asleep, clutching his favorite stuffed bear.

I sat Jessie down at the kitchen table and handed her a cup of chamomile tea, though neither of us touched our cups. I told her exactly what Mason had said to me, word for word.

Jessie sat there, her face losing all its color. She looked down at her hands, her fingers trembling against the ceramic mug. “Mom, there is something I didn’t tell you about the new house.”

“What is it, sweetie?” I asked, leaning forward.

“The landlord,” Jessie whispered. “The cottage is owned by an older woman who lives in the main house behind the trees. I’ve only seen her once, from a distance, when I signed the lease through a rental agency. She wore a large sunhat and sunglasses, but she was so sweet to us. She dropped off a basket of apples on our porch our first week.”

My heart sank into my stomach. The puzzle pieces were fitting together in a way that made me feel physically ill. Clara had found us. She had waited twenty years, and she had found my daughter and my grandson.

We did not wait for morning. We left Mason sleeping safely under the care of my husband, and Jessie and I drove out to the cottage with the blue door. The night was dark, and the headlights of my old Buick cut through the heavy mist hanging over the trees.

We parked in the gravel driveway. Instead of going to Jessie’s rental, we walked down the narrow, overgrown path toward the main house in the back. A single yellow light was burning in the kitchen window.

I did not knock softly. I banged my fist against the heavy wooden door until the lock clicked.

The door opened slowly, and there she stood.

She was older, her face lined with the years we had missed, but she had the exact same silver curls as the photo on my mantel. She was wearing a faded blue sweater, and around her neck was a silver locket that used to belong to our mother.

She looked at me, and then her eyes drifted to Jessie, standing right behind me. A small, cold smile touched her lips.

“Hello, sister,” Clara said. “I wondered how long it would take you to visit.”

I looked at this woman who shared my sister’s face, but none of her warmth. “Stay away from my grandson, Clara. If you ever go near his window again, I will call the police.”

Clara did not flinch. She just leaned against the doorframe, looking incredibly tired. “He has Carol’s eyes, you know. I just wanted to see him.”