Chapter 5
The first week with Lily was heaven and hell all wrapped into one.
Heaven, because she was mine again. Because I got to tuck her in at night, make her pancakes in the morning, help her with her homework, and listen to her chatter about everything and nothing.
Hell, because every other sentence out of her mouth was about Julia.
“Auntie Julia lets me watch TV after dinner.”
“Auntie Julia makes the best mac and cheese.”
“Auntie Julia says I don’t have to clean my room if I don’t feel like it.”
“Auntie Julia says you’re sad because you don’t have a baby in your tummy.”
It was like living with a tiny, seven-year-old spy who’d been programmed to break my heart a little more every day.
Mia told me to be patient.
“She’s been brainwashed,” she said over coffee one morning. “Three adults, every single day, telling her how great Julia is and how terrible you are. It’s going to take time to undo it. Don’t fight it. Just be consistent. Be the mom you’ve always been. Eventually, the truth will stick.”
So I did.
When Lily told me Julia let her watch TV after dinner, I said, “That’s fun at Auntie Julia’s house. At Mommy’s house, we read books after dinner because it helps your brain grow big and strong.”
When she said Julia made better mac and cheese, I said, “I’m glad you like it! Maybe we can try making it together sometime and see if we can make it even better.”
When she said Julia said I was sad because I couldn’t have a baby, I took a deep breath and said, “I’m not sad, baby. I have you. And you are more than enough for me. More than enough.”
Slowly, ever so slowly, the comments started to change.
One night, she was quiet at dinner.
“Mommy?” she said, picking at her peas.
“Yes, honey?”
“Does Auntie Julia really have a baby in her tummy?”
I set down my fork.
“I think so,” I said carefully. “Why do you ask?”
Lily frowned.
“Because sometimes she has a big tummy,” she said. “And sometimes it’s small. Like, yesterday morning it was really big, but after her shower, it was almost gone. And then she put on a special dress and it was big again. I asked her about it, and she said babies grow and shrink all the time. Is that true?”
My heart stopped.
I stared at my daughter.
“Sometimes it’s big, sometimes it’s small?” I repeated.
Lily nodded vigorously.
“Uh-huh! And once I walked into the bathroom when she was getting dressed, and she had this big beige pillow thing strapped to her stomach! She yelled at me and said never to come in without knocking. She said it was a special doctor belt to help the baby grow. Do all mommies wear those?”
I could barely breathe.
A pillow.
Strapped to her stomach.
Julia was faking the pregnancy.
The sonogram. The doctor’s visits. The ten-thousand-dollar payment to the clinic. The loose dresses, the hand resting on the bump.
All of it.
Fake.
I reached across the table and took Lily’s hand.
“No, baby,” I said, my voice shaking. “Not all mommies wear those. In fact, most don’t. That’s very… unusual.”
Lily’s eyes went wide.
“Is Auntie Julia lying about the baby?” she whispered.
I didn’t know what to say.
She was seven. She couldn’t carry this secret. She couldn’t be the one to blow the lid off this whole thing. It would destroy her.
“I don’t know for sure, honey,” I said gently. “But I’m going to find out. Okay? And whatever the truth is, we’ll handle it together. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”
That night, after Lily was asleep, I called Mia.
I told her everything Lily had said.
The changing bump.
The beige pillow.
The yelling when Lily walked in.
Mia was quiet for a long time.
Then she laughed.
It was a sharp, dangerous sound.
“Oh, this is perfect,” she said. “This is better than perfect. Fake pregnancy? That’s fraud. That’s coercion. That’s emotional abuse of a child. If we can prove this, they don’t just lose the divorce case. They could face criminal charges.”
“But how?” I said. “Lily is seven. We can’t put her on the stand. They’ll rip her apart.”
“We don’t have to,” Mia said. “Because I just got a call back from my friend at the clinic. Remember that ten-thousand-dollar payment? It wasn’t for prenatal care. It was for a private ultrasound session. The kind where you pay extra to get multiple copies of the sonogram, a DVD, and a little teddy bear with the baby’s heartbeat recorded inside. And the date on the sonogram they showed Lily? It matches the date of that appointment exactly.”
I frowned.
“So she did have an ultrasound,” I said. “Maybe she really is pregnant.”
“Wait for it,” Mia said. “My friend pulled the records. The ultrasound was performed on a twenty-eight-year-old woman named… wait for it… Maria Gonzalez. Not Julia Rose. Julia paid ten thousand dollars to buy someone else’s ultrasound. The sonogram she showed Lily? It’s not hers. It’s a stranger’s.”
I felt sick.
And then I felt angry.
So angry I could barely see straight.
They’d faked a pregnancy.
They’d bought a stranger’s sonogram.
They’d strapped a pillow to Julia’s stomach.
All to throw me out of my house, steal my husband, and take my daughter.
And they’d used Lily to do it.
“Okay,” Mia said, her voice all business now. “Here’s the plan. We have the clinic records proving the sonogram is fake. We have Lily’s statements about the fake bump—but we’re keeping her out of it as much as possible. What we need now is proof. Hard proof. Something that shows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Julia is not, and never was, pregnant.”
“How?” I said.
“Blood test,” Mia said. “Or urine. A pregnancy test. If we can get a sample, we can have it tested. If it comes back negative, we’ve got them. Game over.”
“But how do we get a sample?” I asked. “She’s not just going to pee in a cup for us.”
Mia was quiet for a moment.
“Next week is Lily’s birthday,” she said. “They’re throwing her a party at the house, right? You’re invited—joint custody, you have to be included. Go to the party. Be nice. Smile. And while you’re there, find a way to get something of Julia’s with her DNA on it. A toothbrush. A hairbrush. A used glass. Anything. We can have it tested for pregnancy hormones. It’s not as reliable as a direct test, but combined with the clinic records and Lily’s statements? It’ll be enough to convince a judge to order a formal test.”
She paused.
“Can you do it?” she asked. “Can you go back to that house, smile at those people, pretend everything is fine, and steal a toothbrush?”
I thought of Lily.
I thought of that fake bump.
I thought of all the lies, all the manipulation, all the ways they’d tried to destroy my little family.
“Yes,” I said. “I can do it.”
Lily’s eighth birthday was on a Saturday.
The party was at my house.
My house.
I kept having to remind myself it wasn’t mine anymore—not really. Not while they were living in it.
Mia drove me.
“Remember,” she said, parking down the street. “Smile. Be the bigger person. If they try to provoke you, walk away. Find the bathroom. Julia’s things will be in there—she’s living in your old room, she’ll have her toiletries in your old en suite. Grab something. Anything. And get out. We don’t need to stay for the whole party.”
I nodded.
I got out of the car.
I walked up the driveway.
The front yard was decorated with pink balloons and a big banner that said HAPPY 8TH BIRTHDAY LILY!
I could hear kids screaming and laughing from the backyard.
The front door was open.
I walked in.
The house smelled like vanilla and cake.
Everything was exactly where I’d left it—except for the photos. All the pictures of me and Lily and my husband were gone. Replaced with photos of him, Julia, his mother, and Lily. All smiling. All happy.
One big, fake, happy family.
“Look who’s here!”
His mother’s voice.
She came out of the kitchen, wearing an apron that said WORLD’S BEST GRANDMA, holding a tray of cupcakes.
She smiled at me.
It was the fakest smile I’d ever seen.
“So glad you could make it,” she said. “Lily’s been asking for you. Though I have to say, it’s good you showed up. We were starting to think you’d forgotten your own daughter’s birthday.”
I smiled back.
Just like Mia had practiced.
“I’d never forget Lily’s birthday,” I said. “Where is she?”
“Backyard with Julia,” his mother said. “Julia’s been planning this party for weeks. She’s really wonderful with her, you know. Lily’s so lucky to have two mommies who love her so much.”
I wanted to slap her.
Instead, I kept smiling.
“Wonderful,” I said. “I’ll just run to the bathroom first, then go say hi.”
I turned and walked down the hall before she could say anything else.
My heart was pounding.
I reached the master bedroom.
The door was closed.
I turned the handle.
Locked.
Of course it was locked.
I stood there for a second, panicking.
Then I heard the back door open.
Julia’s voice, laughing.
“C’mon, Lily! Let’s go open presents!”
Footsteps coming toward the hall.
I ducked into the guest bathroom—the one I’d never used much, the one his mother usually used when she had company.
I closed the door just as Julia and Lily walked past.
I leaned against the door, breathing hard.
The master bedroom was locked. I couldn’t get in. I couldn’t get to Julia’s things.
Then I looked around.
The guest bathroom.
There was a toothbrush in a holder by the sink.
Pink. With a glittery handle.
Julia’s.
She always kept a spare in the guest bathroom, just in case. She’d done it since she was a teenager.
I reached out.
My hand was shaking so bad I almost knocked the holder over.
I picked up the toothbrush.
It was damp.
Recently used.
I wrapped it in a paper towel, stuffed it into my purse, and washed my hands.
Then I opened the door.
Julia was standing right outside.
Her hand was resting on that perfect, fake bump.
May you like
She smiled at me.
“Looking for something?” she asked.
