All I wanted was a simple answer, not a mystery wrapped in a child’s crayon lines. December was already hectic, and I assumed my biggest worry would be last-minute shopping or a winter cold passing through our house. But then Ruby’s preschool teacher called me aside after pickup and showed me a drawing Ruby had made of our family holding hands under a bright star. There was me, my husband Dan, and Ruby… and then another woman standing beside us, taller than me, smiling wide, labeled clearly in Ruby’s neat handwriting: “Molly.” The teacher mentioned Ruby talked about Molly often, like she was someone we all knew. I forced a calm smile, thanked her, and walked out with the paper in my purse—my hands steady on the outside, shaking on the inside.