I stared after her, even more confused than I had been before.
That evening, around the dinner table, I was unusually quiet. Damien was smoothly picking up the slack, asking the girls about their day. He sent me occasionally worried looks, with I tried to respond to with a kind, easy smile.
But that smile wasn’t genuine. Inside, I was still trying to parse together who was telling the truth and who was lying.
When I had asked Damien who Annette was, he had told me she was someone who just happened to look like me. Yet the nurse at the hospital had seemed certain that I was Annette, just going under a different name.
Of course, I trusted my husband with my life, and it was possible that the nurse, who didn’t know me nearly so well, had been one of the people to confuse me and Annette.
