Six years ago, I gave birth to twin girls. But in the chaos of the delivery room, the doctors told me only one baby had survived.

They said the other di:ed from complications before I could even see her. My husband Michael and I named the baby we lost Eliza, whispering the name like a secret. Over time the grief slowly broke our marriage, and Michael eventually left. From then on, it was just me and my daughter Junie, while the shadow of the child I never met followed us everywhere.

When Junie started first grade, I hoped life might finally feel normal again. But on her very first day, she ran through the door after school and said something that froze my heart.

“Mom, tomorrow you need to pack an extra lunch.”

Confused, I asked why.

“For my sister,” she said matter-of-factly. “Her name is Lizzy, and she sits next to me. She looks just like me.”

At first I thought it was childish imagination, until Junie showed me a photo she had taken at school. In the picture stood two girls—identical curly hair, the same eyes, even the same freckles under the left eye.

The next morning I went to the school and saw the other girl myself. She was the mirror image of my daughter. Standing beside her was a woman named Suzanne… and behind her stood someone I recognized immediately.

Marla, the nurse who had been present during my delivery six years earlier.