prickling with dread, the tension in the room hanging like

icicles ready to strike.

“These arrived

little while ago,” Megan says

calmly, handing me stack of photographs.

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stare at them, surprised. They’re of me—me and

Kitty in the center of Boston

trying on clothes

having

manicures

hugging tearfully

“I—I don’t understand …”

frown. “When were

these

How …?”

“They were sent by one Janine Lithgow.” Jack sighs.

“Kitty’s publicist.”

“Janine …” trail off. Janine the assistant woman?

Kitty’s publicist?

“I don’t understand,” say again, looking to Megan

for help. “I don’t know how those photos were taken—”

Then suddenly

remember Janine and her huge Gucci

bag

clutching it in the car

peering through the

dressing room curtain at Chanel

thrusting the bag at

Kitty desperately as we left the limo

“I don’t understand …”

sink into

chair. “Why

would she …?”

“This came with the pictures,” Jack interrupts. “It’s

draft article: ‘Mamma Mia—Reunited at Last!: How

Found My Long-Lost Daughter.’

“What?”

stare at the page, words and phrases

leaping out at me. Babies switched! Tearful reunion! Life of misery and heartache

My stomach turns as read my

own words: She didn’t mean to be violent— it was the disease— and all that time feared I’d inherit it too

“What is this?”

Jack sighs. “I’m afraid it’s

publicity stunt. Kitty’s

reinventing herself as Mother Teresa, apparently,” he

says. “Or Mamma Mia, anyway—it says here she’s the

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favorite for the new Broadway lead with—get this—

rumors that her real daughter will play opposite her!” He

tosses the envelope back onto the coffee table. “I should

never have let you go with her,” he groans. “What bloody

mess.”

stare at the article, the pictures, Kitty’s smiling

face. All publicity stunt?

career move? remember her

tears as she left me, the love in her eyes, the regret. It

seemed so real

It was real, I’d swear to it

But then, she’s an actress, remind myself. She does

this for

living. Fooling people, deceiving them into

thinking she’s someone she’s not—that’s her job Onstage, on camera, her relationship

God, she’d even told me!

It’s all

sham— career move— my whole life’s one

big charade, Rosie— nothing’s real …

Except when there are no lights, no cameras—

hidden or otherwise—then the real Kitty emerges. And

saw her

realize painfully. The real Kitty—the one met

in New York. The one who wanted nothing to do with

me

until it worked in her interest.

God, how could have been so stupid? scan the

page again, her words in the hotel room echoing in my

ears:

need

hook— you know, capture the public’s

imagination, attract media interest— constantly raise my profile … Well, what better hook than to have long-lost daughter turn up? swapped long-lost daughter, no less—

scandal—and then to be photographed in

joyful

reunion?

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close my eyes, sick with the realization of it, the

betrayal, my stupidity

It was all an act. She never loved me, never wanted

me

Andy was right—I should’ve known, should’ve been

more suspicious when she turned up, all hugs and smiles.

Instead, I’d stupidly swallowed the whole act—hook, line

and sinker.

But then, I’d wanted to. So desperately.

“I’ve been asked to give my comment on the whole

sorry saga before it’s submitted to the press on Monday.”

Jack groans. “I daresay she’ll get one of those tabloids to

run it, celebrity magazine perhaps, online …”

“No!” gasp, my blood running cold. “No, she can’t!”

“Oh, I’m afraid she can.” Jack sighs wearily. “They’ll

print anything with celebrity attached.”

“No!” cry, squeezing my eyes tight shut. “Oh, God!

Nana— my nana—she doesn’t know …”

“Doesn’t know what, Rosie?” Megan asks slowly.

“She doesn’t know anything!” tell her desperately.

“She doesn’t know about the swap—the mix-up—

anything!” Nana’s frail face swims in front of me. “It

would—it would destroy her!”

Megan glances at Jack as stare miserably at the

article, wishing could turn back the clock, wishing I’d

never come here, wishing I’d never even heard of Kitty

Clare.

“It might not run in the UK, right?”

ask

desperately. “She’s not even famous at home. These

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magazines and papers—this story—it’s just for the U.S.,

right?”

“I guess …,” Megan says slowly. “But sweetie, what

about the courts?”

“What?” frown. “What courts?”

“Rosie,” Jack says. “Kitty’s planning to sue.”

“What?” stare at him, frozen.

“She’s going to sue the hospital where you were

born,” he explains. “It’s all part of her Mother-of-the-Year

campaign. She wants the record set straight, wants your

birth certificate rectified—she wants to be officially

recognized as your mother, never mind the fact that for

eighteen years she’s never shown any interest in—”

“No!” stare at him, horror surging through me like

boiling lava. Sarah

“It shows she wants you, at least,” Megan says.

“After all this time.”

“It shows no such thing!” Jack argues. “It’s all about

publicity. She has no idea what

can of worms she’s

opening. Do you have any idea what this could mean—to

all of us? Besides being swamped by journalists day and

night, Rosie and Holly will have their whole lives

rearranged!”

stare at him, dumbstruck, the world tumbling

down around me.

“The two of you live in different countries for God’s

sake, you can’t just swap back eighteen years down the

line. You have different passports, different driver’s

licenses—the list is endless—and they’re all going to be

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investigated, all ‘set straight’—just so Kitty can bag the

story of the year!”

“Oh, God …”

feel dizzy. “Kitty can’t sue

she

can’t

I’ll deny it!” protest. “I’ll say she made it all up!”

“She had

DNA test done, sweetie,” Megan says

gently.

“DNA? What DNA? How?”

“It says here, your nails—”

“My nails?”

remember Janine insisting we get

manicures and pedicures together as soon as we

arrived—“perfect girly bonding”— all to collect my nails?

“No!” exclaim. “We have to stop this!”

“I don’t see how we can, Rosie.” Jack sighs. “After all,

Kitty’s got

case—it’s

hell of

mistake to swap two

babies.”

squeeze my eyes shut. But it wasn’t

Oh, God, if

they investigate

Sarah

God, Sarah

feel sick to my

stomach.

This is the worst thing could ever imagine If Nana

finds out, she could have

heart attack; Sarah could be

arrested—could go to prison—all because of me and my

stupidity

“It’s my fault,” sob, my voice ragged. “It’s all my

fault …”

“No,” Megan tells me firmly. “No, Rosie, it isn’t.

You’re the victim here. You and Holly. It’s all been

mistake, terrible accident.”