Page 12 of Mistaken Identity

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The tears that I’d barely been holding in check burst free of my iron control.

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

She was sorry for everything.

I knew.

“I love you,” I said. “It’s okay to go now.”

My mom smiled. “He’s so beautiful and happy.”

I turned my watery gaze toward my mom. “Who is, Mom?”

“Our boy,” she whispered. “He says he can’t wait to see you.”

I started to sob.

“He’s everything you ever wanted, baby. So good and pure. Be proud.”

Those were the last words she ever said to me.

Be proud.

But how could I be proud when I was so utterly lost without them?

Four

The best version of me you’ll ever see is the one eating ice cream.

—Creole’s secret thoughts

CREOLE

Two Years Ago

I sat in a hospital room, dressed fully in my flight attendant get-up, and stared at the doctors that’d just given us the news.

Laney was dead.

Dead.

Dead.

What had I done to deserve this?

What had Audric?

Who had we pissed off in a past life?

“Fuck.”

“You can go visit your daughter in the neonatal intensive care unit.”

The words sent a crack through my soul.

Fuck.

His daughter.

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