I was standing in line at the pharmacy when a woman said, «you look just like my sister.» I smiled politely. She added, «she went missing 25 years ago.» I laughed nervously and said, «what was her name?» She stared at me and said, «your name.» The bottle dropped from my hand…

Rachel Marie Anderson, age seven, brown hair, green eyes, 42 inches tall, 45 pounds, wearing a yellow sundress with butterflies. Left-handed, scar above right eyebrow, birthmark on left shoulder. My hand went unconsciously to my shoulder.

The police thought she wandered off and got lost, Carol continued. Then they thought maybe she’d been taken by someone. We had volunteers searching for weeks.

My husband took a leave from work. We hired private investigators. She pulled out a photo album next, the one I’d seen glimpses of on Facebook.

This was Rachel’s first day of school. She was so excited, insisted on wearing her new light-up shoes even though they didn’t match her dress. Page after page of a life interrupted, birthday parties, Christmas mornings, a trip to the zoo.

In every photo I saw myself, not someone who looked like me, me. This was taken the morning she disappeared, Carol said, her voice breaking. She showed me a Polaroid of a little girl eating cereal, grinning at the camera with milk on her chin.

She was going through a phase where she wanted photos of everything. I must’ve taken 50 pictures that week alone. I don’t remember any of this, I whispered.

You were so young. Trauma can affect memory, especially in children. Carol reached into her bag again and pulled out a small stuffed elephant, worn and faded with age.

This was yours, your favorite toy. You called him Peanut. You wouldn’t go anywhere without him.

I stared at the elephant. Something stirred in my mind, not quite a memory, but an echo of one. The feeling of soft gray fur against my cheek.

My daughter Emma found him under Rachel’s bed a week after she disappeared. I’ve kept him all these years, hoping someday I’d be able to give him back to you. This doesn’t prove anything, I said, but my voice was weak.

Lots of kids have stuffed elephants, Carol nodded. You’re right, that’s why I brought this. She pulled out a DNA test kit.

I already took mine. If you’re willing, we can know for certain. I stared at the kit, such a small thing to hold such enormous truth.

What happened to your husband? I asked. David died five years ago, heart attack. He never gave up hope, but the not knowing destroyed him.

Every time the phone rang, every time someone knocked on the door, he thought it might be news about Rachel. She wiped her eyes. He would have been so happy to meet you.

And Emma? She’s 37 now, married with two kids. She was 10 when you disappeared. She blamed herself for years, thought she should have been watching you better.

It affected her whole life. She became a social worker specializing in missing children cases. I picked up the DNA kit with shaking hands.

How long for results? Two weeks if we pay for expedited processing. Two weeks to know if my entire life was a lie. I opened the kit and followed the instructions, swabbing the inside of my cheek while Carol watched with tears streaming down her face…