Vera

The words alive and already claimed followed her like a shadow she couldn’t outrun.

They echoed through the halls of the New York estate, through the silence of the armored car, through the quiet room where Vanessa now played with blocks on the floor, humming to herself as if the world had not tried to tear her apart.

Vera watched her daughter from across the room.

My daughter.

And somewhere out there—breathing, thinking, living—was another child made from her body without her ...