At first, I just laughed. “You’re the most beautiful princess in the kingdom,” I’d tell her, scooping her up and planting a kiss on her cheek. She’d squeal and wrap her arms around my neck like it was the greatest compliment she’d ever received.
But then I noticed it was happening more and more. Lipstick. Dresses. High heels. Little comments about “Mommy’s red shoes” and “Mommy’s pretty makeup.” Something started gnawing at me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t adding up.
One night, after dinner, Lila was giving her dolls a “makeover,” complete with scribbled red lips made from a crayon she insisted was lipstick. Rachel was humming in the kitchen, doing the dishes, the same woman I’d always known—barefaced and barefoot.
