"From this moment on, you are Olivia Swanson."

"Your illness — I'll assemble the best medical team money can buy."

"As long as Melody grows up safe, the Stephens family will take care of you for life."

I nodded. "Deal."

My phone screen lit up right then, Murray Delgado's name flashing across it.

I answered.

"Beatrice! Where the hell are you?! Get back here! Lavinia fainted!"

The screaming stabbed through my eardrums.

I looked at Ivan and replied, word by word:

"If she wants a kidney, she can go to hell and get one."

I hung up. The phone slipped through the gap in the staircase railing and dropped.

Crack. The sound of it shattering echoed up the stairwell.

Ivan raised an eyebrow and held out a brown paper bag.

"Clean up. Put these on."

Half an hour later.

I'd changed into Olivia's cream-colored dress, spritzed on her woody perfume, and returned to the hospital room.

Melody sat in her chair, tears streaming down her face.

At the sound of footsteps, she reached out in my exact direction.

"Mommy."

I walked over and lifted her into my arms.

"Good girl, Melody. I'm taking you home."

The Stephens estate was a three-story villa with a private garden. Cold. Quiet. Empty.

That night, after bathing Melody and tucking her in, I tried to ease her to sleep.

She clung to my fingers and wouldn't let go.

"Mommy, you smell a little bitter today." She scrunched her nose.

"I took some medicine." I patted her back gently.

"Are you sick, Mommy? Melody will blow it better."

She leaned in and puffed soft little breaths against my cheek.

Tears hit the comforter before I even knew they were coming.

Twenty years. Not once in twenty years had anyone asked if I was sick. Not once had anyone offered to blow the pain away.

"It doesn't hurt anymore." I buried my face in the curve of her neck.

Melody fell asleep quickly.

Even in her dreams, she held tight to the hem of my shirt, murmuring in that soft, cottony voice: "Mommy..."

In that moment, guilt pressed down on me so hard I could barely breathe.

I was someone whose own parents couldn't stand the sight of — covered in scars, riddled with sickness. What right did I have to steal love this pure?

I'd taken another woman's nest. Slipped into her place like a thief, claiming the warmth and tenderness that had belonged to her alone.

I pulled my hand free and crept out of the room.

At the far end of the second floor, a door stood slightly ajar.