Clara stared at the photograph on her phone.
The young woman standing beside Edward Delevon had her face.
The same eyes. The same delicate jawline. Even the faint smile was familiar.
But the date printed beneath the image made the photograph impossible.
It had been taken three years before Clara was born.
"Arthur, look at this."
He took the phone from her.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
"That's…"
"Me," Clara finished.
Arthur examined the photograph more closely.
"No. Look at her hand."
Clara leaned closer.
A familiar gold ring rested on the woman's finger.
Eleanor's wedding ring.
Clara's expression changed.
"It's Mother."
Arthur looked at her again.
"Your mother?"
"Yes. The photograph is old, but the resemblance is unmistakable. I must have inherited more of her features than I realized."
"Then why did the sender want you to think it was you?"
"Because they wanted me to question my own identity. Or perhaps they wanted me to question my mother."
