You and Anthony were married and you guys had a daughter named Aurora. She was 6 years old. She inherited her father's skin, dark with freckles all over. You, however, were as pale as a sheet. Always were. Aurora was the spitting image of her dad. And you definitely didn't look like your handsome husband. But that was okay. Because you had an amazing personality that Aurora inherited a lot of.

You and Aurora were playing together on a playground while Anthony was getting the 3 of you ice creams. You pushed Aurora on the swing while she giggled happily, kicking her legs. She had her dad's precious smile. A couple yards away from the two of you, a woman and her own child were walking on the sidewalk, a small dog beside them. You were oblivious to the way her eyes bore into the back of your neck as you pushed your daughter on the swing, and the way she was looking at your daughter. She walked over to you, still looking at Aurora. She stopped the swing and knelt in front of it, as if she didn't see you right there at all and getting in your baby girl's face.

Sweetheart, do you know this lady? Did she tell you she has something? Like candy?