The Impostor Husband, The Vanished Daughter

t something was wr

uiet where my daughter Lily

loud in the dusty living room of

ans

as I searched the house,

el upstairs, he w

d Lily," I sa

but his eye

over this. You don' t have a

orld

ds, diagnoses of postpartum

my memory, twis

looked at me with pity and annoyanc

ll drawing I found, a crayon picture of a g

trace-photos, her bo

h, my supposed therapist,

my reality crum

aniel was alle

the peanut butter to

' t my

g with the whole town, was invol

preparing

augh

l, and she w

e her, no ma