Blurb：
When a business trip reveals a shocking message from Sarah Jenkins claiming to be Leo Sterling's mother, a wife's world unravels. Cole Sterling's casual dismissal ignites a desperate race back to Brookfield Elementary. Confronting the plain-looking teacher unveils a web of lies, Instagram posts, and a husband's betrayal. As the Lincoln Center roses and the school awning downpour paint a damning picture, a mother must uncover the truth before Sarah Jenkins replaces her entirely. This domestic thriller explores the darkest corners of marriage, obsession, and the terrifying question: Then who the hell am I?Content：
It was the third day of my business trip to Seattle when a new member joined the long-dormant parent group chat for my son's first-grade class.A voice memo popped up. I tapped it, and a sweet, unfamiliar female voice filled the air.
Hi everyone, I'm Sarah Jenkins, the new language arts teacher. I'm also Leo Sterling's mom. It's so nice to meet you all!
A cold paralysis seized me. I scrolled through the member list, my thumb shaking as I compared the names.
My son is Leo Sterling. She's Leo Sterling's mom.
Then who the hell am I?
My fingers fumbled as I dialed my husband's number.
"Cole? Did someone get added to Leo's class chat by mistake?"
There was a fractional pause on his end, then a breezy, unconcerned laugh. "Oh, probably just a mix-up. With so many kids in the school, you know, same names happen. Is something wrong?"
"No, nothing," I said, matching his casual tone. I ended the call, and before my bag was even packed, I was booking the first red-eye back to New York.
1
The plane touched down at JFK before dawn. I took a cab straight to Brookfield Elementary.
Leo is seven. First grade.
It was 1:40 in the afternoon, just after the first bell.
The security guard at the front desk, a kindly older man named Arthur, was diligent. He recognized me and immediately called the main office to let them know a parent had arrived.
A few minutes later, a young woman in a crisp white blouse and a black pencil skirt hurried out. She looked like she'd graduated college last week. She wasn't beautiful, more plain than anything, but she had a gentle, soft-spoken way about her.
A woman's intuition is a brutal, unerring thing. I knew, instantly, that this was her.
The moment she saw me, her composure shattered. Her face went chalk-white, and a tremor ran through her hands, as if she were staring down a category-five hurricane.
"Ma'am, can I… can I help you with something?" she stammered, the words catching in her throat.
She was too terrified to form a coherent sentence, yet she'd had the gall to announce herself as my son's mother to a group of thirty parents.
"I saw your message in the group chat," I said, my voice flat and cold. I wasn't going to play games, not here in the lobby with Arthur watching. "You said you're Leo Sterling's mother. I'm curious about that."
Her hands, dangling at her sides, clenched into tight fists. Her eyes darted nervously toward the security desk before she forced a brittle smile. "Oh, that! The parent-teacher conferences are coming up, you see. Leo's father mentioned that he and his wife are just so busy, they wouldn't have time to come."
She took a shaky breath, trying to sell the lie. "He asked me to… to pretend, just so Leo wouldn't feel left out or sad. I am so sorry if it caused any confusion!"
It was a seamless explanation. It absolved her of any wrongdoing and, with a subtle twist of the knife, painted me as the absentee mother, too consumed by her career to show up for her own child.
If I hadn't spent the flight meticulously scrolling through her public Instagram profile, I might have actually believed her.
Wednesday, 8:00 PM. The Lincoln Center. A photo of a man's back as he bought a bouquet of roses from a street vendor.
Her caption: He's not a prince, he's my king.
The next day, I was in an urgent care clinic in Seattle with a severe allergic reaction to a bouquet of lilies my hotel had left in my room.
Friday, 6:00 PM. A torrential downpour over the city. A selfie of her, looking doe-eyed and forlorn under the school's awning.
Her caption: Waiting for my king to rescue me from this downpour.
Three minutes later, a text from Cole had come through.
Hey, honey. Going to be stuck late at the office tonight. Can't pick up Leo. You've got it, right? Thanks, you're a lifesaver.
I was dozing in a hospital bed, an IV dripping antihistamines into my arm. By the time I saw his text, two hours had passed.
My son had waited in the school's office, watching the storm, for two solid hours.
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The End