Page 88 of A Pretty Fixation

A strange feeling is brewing in my stomach.

It’s like something is wrong, and it makes menervous.

Reaching home minutes later, I walk into the houseand find my parents sitting in the living room.

A folder on the coffee table catches my eye as Ienter. “What’s going on? Where’s Noah?”

“Skateboarding with friends,” Mom answers in aquiet voice. They aren’t their usual upbeat selves.

Dad nods to the sofa across from them. “Sit down,son.”

That heightens the anxious feeling. “What’swrong?”

Mom sighs. “Honey, I think it’s best if you sitdown to hear this.”

I lower on the sofa, clasping my hands togethernervously. “Okay.”

Dad clears his throat before speaking. “Um, I knowyou asked me to stop, but I continued my search.”

I scowl. “Why? I found her.”

He shakes his head. “You foundsomeonefromthe foster home.”

“Not Dove,” Mom adds softly, sympathy in hergentle blue gaze.

I scoff. “What do you mean? It’s the same person.JordynisDove.”

“No, Caleb.” Dad picks up the folder and comesover, opening it before me.

The two photographs give me a chill. Both littlegirls have similar auburn hair and brown eyes.

“That’s Dove,” Dad says as he points to the photoon the left. But I already recognize her.

He moves to the other photo. “That’s Jordyn. Shearrived at the foster home a few days before Dove. She got adopted around thesame time, too.” I barely recall that little girl and her sunken eyes full ofpain. We must not have been friends, and many kids came and went. Then again, Ibarely paid attention to anyone aside from Dove.

My throat starts to tighten as I flick from onephoto to the next. Except for the same hair and eye color, they don’t resemble.But it seems my desperation to find Dove blinded me.

Realization strikes me like a bolt of lightning,and I wipe my mouth with the palm of my hand.

“I...I didn’t find her...”

For almost two months, I believed I was with Dove.Loving her and fantasizing about forever with her. The whole time it wassomeone else.

“Olivia Dove Michaelson,” Dad mutters. “That’s thesurname of her adopted parents.”

“Where is she?” I grate out, looking at him. “Isshe in Connecticut? I want to see her.”

Regret veils his face, and he closes the folderand releases a heavy breath.

I look across to Mom. She appears just as sad.

“What? Just tell me.”

“I have bad news, son,” Dad says. “Dove...shedied.”

Shock dismantles any remaining control I had overmy emotions. A wave of pain swallows me and sucks the air from my lungs.

“What...” I choke out as tears pour down my face.“She can’t be... Don’t say that...”

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