Of course I wasn’t going to meet G in the park at midnight. That sounded like a good way to get murdered. “But I am really curious,” I said to my husband Danny. “Do you think she’s my mom’s sister, or twin, or something?”
“I think the bigger question is how she knew where we live,” he replied, shaking his head. “I still don’t understand why you won’t file a police report.”
“I don’t think you can file a police report for someone sticking something in your mailbox.”
“But it’s not just that. She messaged you creepy stuff on 23andme, right?”
“Just that one message.”
“Yeah. See? That with the letter could be enough for a police report.” Danny sat down at the table, facing me. “It’s freaking weird, Kayla. We should call someone.”
I bit my lip. He was right. But say G was some weird stalker, or something. She wouldn’t be able to falsify her DNA records to match mine. It was more likely that she was a long-lost relative, who decided to find me after our brief messaging on 23andme. Unfortunately, my last name is pretty unique. And I’d given it to her right in the message I sent her. All she had to do was search for Kayla T—, filtering by northwestern states in the US, and she would find my address.
“People were saying online that if Mom had an identical twin, she’d show up as my mother, too.”
“I thought you said her ancestry wasn’t the same as your mom’s, though.”
“It’s not. But apparently 2% Scandinavian ancestry is such a small amount, it could just be an error.” I looked at my phone and sighed. My mom still hadn’t called me back. I’d told her I wanted to talk about G… which, in retrospect, was probably a mistake.
Well, there was nothing to do now but wait for her call.
We went to bed at 10, but I couldn’t sleep. My mom hadn’t called me back all day, which was really uncharacteristic for her. The dread in the pit of my stomach grew. Mom’s lied to me my entire life. She has a sister. An identical twin.
Why didn’t she tell me?
And where has G been all these years? Did my grandparents give her up for adoption, when they were young? Did she run away and grow up in a foster home?
The entire thing was making my head spin.
I must’ve drifted off at some point, because the next thing I knew, I woke with a start. I stared into the darkness, unsure what had woken me. But then I heard it.
Thump, thump, thump.
Someone was knocking on the door.
My heart plummeted. I glanced over at Danny—but he was fast asleep. The clock read 1:11 AM. Swallowing, I pulled myself out of bed.
It has to be G.
I’m not going to open the door. I’m just going to look out the window.
The only window that overlooked the front porch was the one in the guest bedroom. Slowly, I tiptoed across the hallway, careful to not make any noise that could be heard from outside. I crouched in front of the window, and with a deep breath, swung the blinds away.
I couldn’t see that much of her. The porch roof obscured her top half. But I could make out a plain black skirt, trailing to the floor. And, beneath that…
Bare feet.
Bare feet caked with dirt and mud. I glanced to the driveway, to the street—but didn’t see any cars, other than our own and the neighbors’. Did she walk here? In bare feet? From the park? Four miles away?
Thump! Thump! Thump!
More knocking. Louder. Quicker. Insistent.
I crouched there, my legs aching, holding my breath. Something about this felt very, very wrong. Instinctively my shaking hands found my stomach. Thinking of my little baby.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
I finally pushed myself into action. I ran across the hallway and woke Danny. While he was slowly getting up, I grabbed my phone and dialed the police. After they assured me someone was on the way, I walked back to the guest bedroom and pulled the blinds back.
She wasn’t on the porch anymore.
For one wonderful, relief-inducing second, I thought she’d left. That she’d given up on me and decided to walk home.
But then I saw her.
She was standing in the darkness of our front yard.
And she was looking straight up into my window.
Maybe I should’ve run. Maybe I should’ve hidden in the bedroom with Danny until the police came. But something came over me. Maybe my first wave of maternal instinct. That I had to protect my baby at all costs.
I yanked the window open. “Hey!” I shouted. “Get the fuck off my property! I called the police!”
Now that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, I could see her better. I could see her face. She looked nothing like my mother.
“HEY!” I screamed, my voice cracking. “Did you hear me?! The police will be here any second!”
She stared at me.
Then she slowly stepped towards the house. She didn’t stop until she was right underneath my window. She tilted her face up to look at me, her head at almost a ninety-degree angle with her body.
Then she smiled.
“The police may be able to chase me away,” she whispered, so quietly I could barely hear it over the wind. “But they won’t be able to save your baby.”
Then she turned on her bare heel and walked away.
I watched her disappear into the darkness, my entire body shaking. Danny joined me a few seconds later, and he wrapped his arms around me, telling me everything would be okay. But I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something horrible was going to happen.
They won’t be able to save your baby.
The police took our statement. They weren’t able to find the woman, but assured us they’d keep looking. Since she visited, I haven’t been able to focus. Haven’t been able to sleep. Because of my fears about my baby…
And because of something else.
As I watched her walk away that night, I noticed she had a birthmark just above her right elbow.
Just like I have.