Chapter 1 - The Woman Who Should Not Have Known the Song
Three days before the gunshot, Mara Bell had entered the Hawthorne mansion through the servants’ entrance carrying a small brown suitcase and a forged letter of recommendation.
She had rehearsed her new identity so many times that the lies felt more familiar than her own memories.
Twenty-nine years old.
Born in Vermont.
No living relatives.
Five years of domestic service.
No criminal history.
No medical conditions.
Most of it had been created by a man named Jonas Reed, who had warned her never to return to New York.
“People believe you’re dead,” Jonas had told her. “Some of them need you to stay that way.”
Mara had asked him the same question every year.
“Who am I?”
And every year, Jonas had given her the same answer.
“You are someone who survived.”
It was not enough.
Not after the dreams.
Not after the faces of two little boys began appearing every night.
Not after she woke humming a lullaby she could not remember learning.
Mara had seen the advertisement for a live-in maid at Hawthorne House by accident. The photograph attached to the listing showed the mansion’s front courtyard and, in one corner, two young boys standing beside their father.
The moment she saw them, she had dropped her phone.
Her chest had tightened.
Her hands had begun to shake.
She knew their faces.
She did not know from where.
The interview was conducted by Mrs. Finch, the severe head housekeeper who wore black dresses and inspected every applicant as if searching for hidden weapons.
“You have no references I can verify by telephone,” Mrs. Finch said.
“My former employers value their privacy.”
“You have no social media.”
“I value mine.”
Mrs. Finch’s eyes narrowed.
“You are either very sensible or very dishonest.”
Mara forced a polite smile.
“Sometimes those qualities look the same.”
Something almost resembling approval appeared in Mrs. Finch’s expression.
Mara was hired for a thirty-day trial.
She first saw the twins in the upstairs corridor.
They were identical in appearance, with dark brown hair and gray-blue eyes, but different in the way they carried their grief.
Ethan watched everything.
Noah avoided looking at anyone.
Their nanny walked between them, speaking into her phone while the boys followed in silence.
When Noah’s wooden airplane slipped from his hand, Mara bent to retrieve it.
The moment she held it, a memory flashed through her mind.
A nursery painted pale blue.
A man laughing near a window.
A baby’s fingers curled around hers.
Then fire.
Smoke.
Someone screaming her name.
Mara dropped the toy.
Noah stared at her.
“Are you hurt?”
She looked at him.
His voice struck somewhere inside her like a bell.
“No,” she whispered. “I’m fine.”
The nanny snatched the airplane from the floor.
“Staff members are not supposed to interact with the children unless assigned.”
Mara nodded.
But Ethan continued looking at her.
That night, she was cleaning the west corridor when she heard crying.
The sound came from behind the twins’ bedroom door.
A nanny sat outside scrolling through messages.
“Shouldn’t you check on them?” Mara asked.
“They cry every night.”
“They sound frightened.”
“They are spoiled.”
Another sob came through the door.
Mara’s hand moved toward the handle before she could stop herself.
The nanny blocked her.
“Do not go in there.”
“Why?”
“Because Mr. Hawthorne dismissed the last woman who encouraged their nighttime behavior.”
Mara stared at the door.
“What behavior?”
“They claim their mother visits them.”
Mara felt the corridor tilt beneath her feet.
Their mother.
Adrian Hawthorne’s wife, Lillian, had died three years earlier in a private plane crash over the Atlantic.
At least that was what every newspaper reported.
The nanny returned to her phone.
Mara walked away, but the crying followed her.
At midnight, she woke with the lullaby on her lips.
By one in the morning, she could no longer resist.
She crossed the darkened corridor and entered the twins’ bedroom.
Noah was curled under his blanket.
Ethan sat beside the window, watching the rain.
Neither boy seemed surprised to see her.
“You came back,” Noah whispered.
Mara stopped.
“I’ve never been here before.”
Ethan shook his head.
“Yes, you have.”
Mara’s heart began pounding.
“When?”
“Before the fire.”
She stared at him.
“What fire?”
May you like
Ethan pointed toward her left wrist.
“The one that gave you that scar.”
