He glanced at the screen.
His expression changed.
“It’s your husband.”
“How does he know I’m here?”
“I don’t know.”
He let the call end and retrieved a sealed envelope from a cabinet.
“Someone delivered this yesterday with instructions to give it to you if your results showed a connection to the research program.”
My name was written across the envelope.
Inside was an old photograph.
A hospital room.
A narrow bed.
A young man standing nearby.
And lying in the bed was a silver-haired woman who looked astonishingly like me.
The same eyes.
The same mouth.
Even the same hairstyle.
But the photograph was dated twenty-seven years earlier.
On the back, someone had written:
MARGARET IS NOT THE FIRST. ASK DANIEL WHAT HAPPENED TO THE OTHER THREE.
My hands began shaking.
I examined the young man beside the hospital bed.
He looked exactly like Daniel.
But how could my thirty-one-year-old husband appear in a photograph taken twenty-seven years ago?
