I stared at my hands, still trembling from the confrontation. Arthur hadn't left my side since the Dubois family had departed, his strong presence anchoring me through the storm of emotions.
"The resemblance is uncanny," Arthur said quietly, breaking the silence that had fallen between us. "I noticed it the first time I saw you with Beatrice."
"What resemblance?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"Between you and her. You have her eyes. The way you tilt your head when you're thinking—it's exactly like hers."
I let out a bitter laugh. "Funny how everyone noticed except me. Fiona used to throw tantrums about it when we were children."
Arthur's eyebrows raised slightly. "What do you mean?"
"Whenever someone would comment on how much I resembled Beatrice or her family," I explained, "Fiona would fly into a rage. She'd scream that I was trying to steal her mother, that I didn't belong." I swallowed hard. "She was right all along, just not in the way she thought."
