“No, no,” Amy shook her head quickly. “It feels like… like I already know the songs. Not because she sings them every night, but because I’ve heard them before. A long, long time ago. But I don’t remember when.”
A chill ran down my spine. Something about the way Amy said it unsettled me deeply.
“Maybe they’re songs from TV or school?” I suggested, trying to keep my voice light.
Amy shook her head firmly.
“No. These are special. Nobody else sings them. Just Lauren. And… and someone else I can’t remember.”
I tried to brush it off as a child’s imagination, the way kids sometimes blur dreams and reality. But something about the confusion in her eyes stayed with me.
That night, I couldn’t sleep, Amy’s words playing on repeat in my mind.
So, I decided to invite Lauren for tea the next day after her shift, just to talk and learn more about her.
To be honest, there was nothing suspicious about Lauren. She had perfect references, a background check, and had been absolutely wonderful with Amy.
But curiosity nagged at me.
Lauren seemed surprised but pleased by the invitation. We sat on the back porch with steaming mugs of chamomile tea while Amy played in the yard, just within sight.
“Amy talks about you non-stop,” I told her with a smile. “You’ve really made an impression.”
Lauren’s gaze followed Amy as she chased a butterfly. “She’s a special little girl. So bright and kind.”
I nodded, then tentatively brought up what had been on my mind. “Lauren, your lullabies are so beautiful and unique. Did you write them yourself? Amy seems… fascinated by them.”
Her expression darkened instantly. She seemed lost in thought before quietly saying, “My mother used to sing them to me. She was a musician, she made them up herself… and then I passed them on.”
She hesitated, staring into her tea as if the answers were floating there.
“But that was a long time ago. Feels like a different life,” Lauren added.
“Do you have children of your own?” I asked.
The question hung in the air between us. Lauren’s face grew pale. Her hands trembled slightly as she placed her teacup down on the table with a soft clink.
“I… I had a daughter.”