Teresa had intended to scold Yvonne, but as she stood in the nearly empty room, looking at the handful of in clothes in the walk-in closet, her anger melted away, reced by a pang of guilt.


    She let out a heavy sigh, took Yvonne''s hand, and said, "Are you satisfied now? Just please, don''t cause any more trouble."


    Yvonne looked at her and coldly pulled her hand away.


    Satisfied? All of this should have belonged to the original Yvonne from the start. This wasn''t a victory; it was merely a restoration of what was rightfully hers.


    "Have someone purchase everything on this list for me," Yvonne said, handing Teresa a piece of paper. It was a list of brands for various items she was used to having.


    Teresa nced at the list. They were all mid- to high-end brands, but nothing outrageous. She nodded.


    "Alright. I''ll have someone take care of it tomorrow. I won''t let you feel neglected," Teresa said with a smile, tucking the list away.


    The original Yvonne had been back in this house for five years, enduring every form of neglect imaginable. For her biological mother to say this now was the height of self-deception.


    Yvonne was finally in therge, sun-facing room. Even the nkets seemed to smell of sunshine.


    She slept soundly, not waking until the sun was high in the sky the next day.


    She stretchednguidly in the sunlight streaming through the window, got ready, and left her room.


    The Spencer family was gone. George was at the office, Jeffrey was at the hospital, and Teresa had taken Queena out shopping-no doubt topensate her for the injustice of having to switch rooms.


    Yvonne ate her breakfast alone and then went out.


    She wandered aimlessly through the streets until, without realizing it, she found herself back at her old home.


    At the end of thene stood a small, two-story white house. Its walls were covered


    in a lush nket of green ivy, giving it a vibrant, lively appearance.


    This was the house where the first Yvonne had grown up. Her father was a police officer, her mother a university professor. They weren''t wealthy but they were a


    Yvonne stood frozen, hesitating, when the courtyard gate creaked open.


    Her mother, Monica, stood in the doorway, looking at her with a puzzled expression. "Can I help you, youngdy?"


    Yvonne stared at the mother she


    hadn''t seen in so long, fighting back the urge to cry. Her voice was thick with emotion as she replied, "Hello", My name is Yvonne was a Victim Yvonne saved five years agool don''t know if you remember, but you made me pork stew once. It was the most delicious thing I''d ever tasted."


    Their names were so simr. Yvonne felt they were fated to be connected. Before the original Yvonne had found her biological parents, the policewoman Yvonne had let her stay at her home for a few days.


    Recognition flickered in Monica''s eyes, and her expression warmed.


    "Of course, Yvonne! My, you''ve grown so much, I almost didn''t recognize you. Come in,e in!"


    Monica took Yvonne''s hand and led her inside.


    Yvonne stepped into her former home, her eyes greedily taking in every detail.


    Everything was just as she had left


    it. The decor was simple and cozy.


    But on the western wall, there was now a long wooden table. On it were bowls of her favorite fruits and snacks, and in the center stood ck-and-white photograph of her.


    The photo was taken the year she entered the police academy. She was in her uniform, her hair cut in a short, smart bob, her smile bright and full of confidence.


    Yvonne stared at her own memorial photo, a whirlwind of emotions churning inside her.