ELLA

Daphne.

That’s the Daphne. Blonde. Tall. Built like she was made for the runway. She’s cuddling my baby—Beatrice, sitting on the couch in my living room, looking so comfortable.

“Came around for Maria’s wedding,” she casually says, her demeanor calm as though she’s exactly where she belongs. “Although she doesn’t even want to speak to me yet. I am still under fire.”

Right. Right.

I just knew things were looking up which is normally an impossible concept for ...