The Christmas tree lights blinked in a slow, peaceful pattern, their colorful glow reflecting off the ornaments Lily and I had carefully hung just a week before. I smiled to myself, already imagining Lily’s face when she saw the tree. Her eyes would light up with excitement as she dashed down the stairs, probably still in her pajamas, her voice ringing out in joy. But something felt off that morning. “Lily?” I called out, glancing toward the stairs, waiting for her usual cheerful response. But there was nothing. I frowned.

When my five-year-old son, Danny, showed me a drawing of our family with an extra member, I laughed it off. But when he insisted on introducing me to his “sister,” I couldn’t ignore it anymore. What I discovered in the basement changed everything. It started on a warm Monday afternoon. Danny burst into the kitchen, his blue backpack bouncing on his shoulders. His blonde hair was plastered to his forehead from running around after school. “Mommy!” he shouted, his voice filled with excitement. “Guess what I made today!” I turned