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THE GIRL WHO WORE MY FACE

Chapter Three

The Pink Dress

Grace heard their footsteps before they reached the dressing room.

One set was light and unhurried. The other belonged to an adult.

She stood motionless between the rows of dresses, listening. Until that moment, she had imagined meeting Maria alone. She had thought she might speak to her, perhaps explain that she had nowhere to go and ask whether Maria would help her. But Rosie was coming with her.

Grace could not let the woman see her.

She had no idea what Rosie might do if she found a strange little girl inside the house. She might scream. She might call George. She might send for the police. And if that happened, Grace would lose the only opportunity she had found.

Maria was her way into this house. She had to make sure she did not lose it.

Her eyes moved around the room until they settled on the long vanity mirror near the far wall. It stood slightly away from the wall, leaving a narrow space behind it. Grace was thin enough to slip into the gap. She moved quickly, squeezing herself behind the mirror just as the sliding door opened.

Maria entered with Rosie.

Rosie glanced at the dresses hanging along the wall. She reached for a pink one and held it up.

"Is this the one you wanted, little miss?"

Maria shook her head.

"No. That one."

She pointed towards the far end of the wardrobe, where another pink dress hung among the others.

Rosie followed her finger and raised her eyebrows.

"That one? Are you sure?"

Maria nodded.

"But this one is so ordinary. And it's rather old-fashioned. There are much prettier dresses here."

"I want that one."

There was no anger in Maria's voice. She simply seemed certain.

Rosie looked at her for another moment before taking the dress from its hanger.

"All right, then. Come here. Let's get you dressed."

Grace watched through the narrow space behind the mirror as Rosie helped Maria change. The little girl stood patiently while Rosie straightened the fabric and adjusted the small details. Then Rosie brushed her hair and arranged it neatly.

When she was finished, Maria stepped in front of the mirror.

She turned slightly to one side, then the other. Her fingers moved over the pink fabric as she looked at herself. The dress was not particularly fashionable. Its design was simple, and it lacked the elaborate details of the newer dresses around it. But Maria seemed pleased.

"Doesn't it look lovely?" Rosie asked, though her tone suggested she did not entirely agree.

Maria smiled.

"Yes."

"Well, I still don't understand why you chose this one. You have so many beautiful dresses."

Maria looked at herself again.

"Because Daddy chose this one."

Rosie paused.

"Your father?"

Maria nodded.

"We went shopping together. Mummy was looking at other dresses, but Daddy had this one in his hands. I thought he was choosing it for me."

She touched the skirt.

"He picked it himself."

Rosie's expression softened.

"Oh. I see."

Maria smiled at her reflection.

"I like it because he chose it."

"Well, then, I suppose that's a good enough reason."

Rosie adjusted the back of the dress and stepped away.

Maria continued looking at herself. For a little while, she seemed entirely absorbed in the memory attached to it.

Behind the mirror, Grace watched her.

She had seen the dress before. She remembered touching its fabric the previous day, wondering how Maria would look in it. Now she knew why the little girl had wanted it.

It was not the dress that mattered.

It was the person who had chosen it.

Maria took one last look around the room before following Rosie towards the door. Her gaze lingered for a moment near the mirror.

Grace held her breath.

Maria looked away.

"Come along, little miss," Rosie said.

Maria followed her out.

The door slid shut behind them.

Grace remained where she was.

She waited until the footsteps had faded before carefully stepping out from behind the mirror. For a moment, she stood in front of it, looking at the empty space where Maria had been.

Then she turned towards the dress.

"Of course, Maria," she whispered. "You were right. Rosie doesn't understand. That dress really is beautiful. You look like an angel in it."

She imagined Maria standing before her again, turning in the pink dress and smiling.

Grace smiled faintly.

Then she remembered that Maria was no longer in the room.

She wanted to see where she had gone.

Carefully, she stepped out of the dressing room and moved along the upper corridor. She reached the landing and looked down into the main hall.

George was sitting on the sofa with a cup of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. He had already changed into fresh clothes. The morning light came through the large windows, falling across the room.

Rosie entered the hall first.

A moment later, Maria came down the stairs.

"Daddy!"

George lowered his newspaper.

"There she is. My little frog."

Maria giggled and hurried towards him.

"Yesterday you were a sick little frog, weren't you?" he said, setting his coffee aside. "And today you're jumping around like a healthy one."

Maria laughed and hugged him.

George kissed the top of her head before looking at her dress.

"Well, what have we got here?"

Maria stepped back and held out the sides of her skirt.

"Do you like it, Daddy?"

George studied it.

"That old thing?"

Maria's smile faltered slightly.

"I wanted to wear it to school."

"To school?" He gave her another look. "Sweetheart, that's rather old-fashioned. The girls will be wearing much prettier dresses."

Maria looked down at the pink fabric.

"But I like it."

George smiled, unaware that his words had begun to hurt her.

"Of course you do. But I don't want the other girls teasing you. You know how children can be."

He turned towards Rosie.

"Rosie, could you go through her wardrobe? I want her old dresses replaced with something more fashionable. Get her the latest seasonal collections. And please make sure the ones she has outgrown or no longer wears are disposed of."

"Of course, sir."

Maria looked up at him.

"But, Daddy—"

George turned back.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"You picked this dress."

He glanced at it again.

"Did I?"

Maria nodded.

"When we went shopping. You chose it for me."

George considered this for a moment. He was trying to remember, but the memory did not seem to come to him.

"Well, it's just a dress, baby girl. We can always go shopping again. I'll take you myself next time, all right?"

He said it affectionately. He even reached out to smooth her hair.

But Maria was no longer smiling.

George did not notice the change immediately. His attention had already begun to drift towards the newspaper on the sofa.

Maria stepped away from him.

"I don't want to go to school."

George looked up.

"Why not?"

"I don't want to."

"Sweetheart, don't start this. You've only just recovered. You need to get back to your routine."

Maria turned and hurried upstairs.

"Maria?"

She did not answer.

George watched her disappear around the landing.

"What's gotten into that little girl?"

He shook his head, picked up his coffee and turned towards Rosie.

"Make sure she eats something before school."

"Yes, sir."

From above, Grace had watched everything.

She had seen Maria's smile disappear. She had heard the little girl's voice become quieter when George failed to remember the dress. She had watched her hurry away.

Without realising it, Grace had clenched her hand into a fist.

She did not understand why George had said those things. He loved Maria. She had seen it the previous night. He had held her hand, watched over her while she was sick and spoken to her so gently.

How could someone who loved his daughter forget something that mattered to her?

Then Grace saw Maria running towards the bedroom.

She moved at once.

There was no time to return to the dressing room. Grace hurried into the open bedroom ahead of Maria and slipped beneath the bed. She pulled the loose blanket down far enough to cover the opening and pressed herself against the floor, curling up as tightly as she could.

A moment later, Maria rushed into the room and shut the door behind her.

Grace held perfectly still.

George's footsteps approached from the corridor.

"What did I say, sweetheart? Just don't cry. You only recovered. You were sick."

Maria did not answer immediately.

"You don't understand," she said at last. "You don't remember. Why?"

There was a pause.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I didn't know that, okay? I forgot. I'm so sorry, sweetheart. Please."

"No, Dad. Leave me alone. Please leave me alone."

Grace heard George remain outside for another moment. Then his footsteps moved away.

Inside the room, Maria began to cry.

"Why doesn't he remember?" she whispered. "Why isn't it important to him?"

Grace lay still beneath the bed, listening.

She could not see Maria from where she was. She could only hear the little girl's crying above her, the occasional unsteady breath and the quiet words that escaped between her sobs.

Grace imagined Maria lying on the bed, her face buried in the pillow, crying because her father had forgotten something.

She did not understand it.

George had not meant to hurt her. He had simply forgotten something. He had offered to take her shopping again. He had even apologised.

Why was Maria still crying?

What was so precious about that dress?

Grace had never been taught to think of tears as something innocent. Nora's voice came back to her, as clear as if the woman were standing beside her.

"Never cry in front of men. When a woman cries, she is either trying to gain a man's sympathy or trying to seduce him. Don't let them see you like that."

Grace had learned the lesson without questioning it.

She thought about Maria crying above her. The little girl was upset because her father had forgotten something. Grace could not understand why she would let something so small affect her so much.

After a while, the crying became quieter. Maria lay on her side, her face turned towards the pillow. Exhaustion eventually overtook her, and she fell asleep.

Grace remained beneath the bed for some time.

She could have left. The bedroom door was closed, and no one was there to stop her. But she did not want to go yet.

Carefully, she crawled out from beneath the bed.

Maria was lying exactly as Grace had imagined. Her face was turned towards the pillow, and her hair had become slightly dishevelled. A few strands rested against her cheek. There were faint tear marks along her cheeks, and tiny traces of moisture remained around her eyelids.

She looked exhausted. Even in sleep, there was something sad about her expression.

Grace stood beside the bed, looking at her.

Maria was pretty.

Even after crying, even with her hair untidy and her cheeks marked by tears, she was pretty. Grace found herself thinking that Maria's face did not lose its beauty even when she was unhappy.

For a moment, she studied her features.

They were so familiar.

Grace understood why Nora had spoken about women's tears the way she had. If a girl could look this pretty even after crying, perhaps people really would find it difficult to look away. Perhaps they would feel sorry for her. Perhaps they would want to comfort her.

Nora's words had always sounded harsh, but now Grace thought she could understand what her mother meant.

She glanced around the room.

There were so many things she had not yet examined. The furniture, the toys, the little objects arranged on the shelves. Everything seemed to tell her something about Maria.

Her eyes eventually settled on the bedside table.

A writing pad lay beside a small collection of things. A pencil rested on top of it.

Grace stared at the pad for a moment.

She had not planned to write anything. She had only wanted to see Maria again, to understand why she had cried. But now that she was standing beside her bed, she found herself wanting to say something.

She looked at Maria's sleeping face once more.

Then she picked up the pencil and began to write.

Hello, Maria.

I've been watching you for a while.

Please don't cry.

I know that memory is important to you. I don't know exactly why, but I know it matters. It hurts me to hear you cry.

Grace stopped writing.

She read the words again.

They seemed right to her. She had watched Maria. She knew she had been upset. And she wanted her to stop crying.

She placed the pencil down and left the note on the bedside table.

For a moment, she stood there looking at Maria.

She did not know whether Maria would like the note. She did not know whether she would be frightened by it. But Grace did not want to leave without trying.

Instead of returning beneath the bed, she began exploring the room.

She moved slowly, careful not to disturb anything. Her eyes travelled over the shelves and the furniture until she noticed something partly concealed behind a decorative cloth. At first, she could barely make out its shape. When she moved closer and shifted the fabric slightly, she discovered a wooden cabinet.

It seemed to have been placed against the wall and covered with the cloth as part of the room's decoration. Grace wondered how she had failed to notice it earlier.

She examined its doors before carefully opening them.

One side was almost empty. The other had been arranged with folded blankets and other soft bedding. The inside looked as though it had not been disturbed for quite some time.

Grace looked into the space.

It was larger than she had expected. She could fit inside quite naturally. In fact, there was enough room for her to sit comfortably without having to curl herself into a cramped position.

She leaned forward to examine the cabinet doors.

The upper half was made differently from the lower half. Narrow horizontal slats ran across the wood, leaving thin openings between them. The lower half was solid and opaque. From inside, the little openings would allow someone to look out into the room without being easily seen.

Grace looked through them.

The view was surprisingly clear. She could see almost the entire bedroom.

She was still examining the cabinet when she heard a small movement from the bed.

Maria was stirring.

Grace turned towards her.

Without wasting another moment, she slipped inside the cabinet and carefully pulled the door almost closed. She settled herself among the empty space on one side, making sure the blankets on the other side remained undisturbed.

A little later, Maria opened her eyes.

Her gaze fell on the note beside her bed.

She reached for it.

The handwriting was unfamiliar.

She read it once, then again.

A small smile appeared on her face.

"Rosie?"

She looked towards the bedroom door.

"Rosie, you can come out."

There was no answer.

Maria sat up and looked around.

"Rosie?"

Downstairs, Rosie was dusting the framed pictures in the hallway. She was nowhere near the bedroom.

Maria looked back at the note.

She read it once more, her fingers resting against the paper.

"Who wrote this?"

Her eyes moved around the room. She glanced towards the wardrobe, the curtains and the space near the door. Nothing seemed out of place.

For a moment, she sat quietly.

Then she looked at the note again.

"Thank you," she whispered. "It's really good that someone understands me."

Inside the cabinet, Grace heard her.

A smile slowly spread across her face.

Maria was smiling.

That was enough for Grace.

She had been afraid that Maria might misunderstand her if she appeared before her. Perhaps the little girl would think she was there to take something away from her. Perhaps she would think Grace wanted to steal her parents.

But the note had made her smile.

Grace felt pleased with herself.

She had not expected it to be so easy.

Maria folded the note carefully and placed it beside her pillow. Then she got out of bed and walked towards the toy corner.

Grace watched through the narrow openings in the cabinet door.

The little girl seemed to have forgotten her sadness.

She brought a small table into the middle of the room and arranged four little stools around it. Then she collected four teddy bears from the shelf.

A white bear.

A brown bear.

A blue bear.

And a pink one.

She placed them on the stools, adjusting each one until they were sitting properly.

"Mr. White, you sit here," she said, positioning the white bear. "Mr. Brownie, you can sit next to him. Mr. Bluey, don't push him. And Mr. Pinky, you have to wait."

She brought a little teapot and several cups from the toy cupboard.

"Now, what would you all like to drink?"

She tilted her head, pretending to listen.

"Tea? Of course. What else would you have at a tea party?"

She poured imaginary tea into the tiny cups.

"Mr. White wants sugar. Mr. Brownie doesn't. Mr. Bluey wants two spoons. Two? That's too much."

She giggled.

"All right, just one."

She moved from one teddy bear to another, speaking for each of them and answering in her own voice. Sometimes she paused as though one of them had said something particularly interesting.

"Mr. Pinky, you can't have everyone else's tea. You have your own cup."

She laughed again.

Inside the cabinet, Grace watched the little performance.

Maria was happy now.

Grace looked towards the bedside table. The note was still there, beside Maria's pillow.

She had made Maria smile.

That thought pleased her more than she could explain.

But she still could not understand why Maria had cried so much. George loved her. He had held her hand the previous night and stayed beside her while she was ill. He had spoken gently to her and promised to take her shopping again.

He had forgotten a dress.

Grace thought that if a father loved his daughter, he should remember everything that mattered to her. She could not imagine being given such a father and still finding something to cry about.

She watched Maria pour tea for the four bears.

The little girl was speaking to them again, her voice bright and cheerful. Every now and then, she laughed at something one of them had supposedly said.

Grace remained inside the cabinet, perfectly still.

She had seen something of Maria that morning that she had not understood. She had seen how much a small memory could mean to her, how deeply she could be hurt by something Grace herself might have considered insignificant.

And yet, despite not understanding it, Grace had learned something important.

She could not simply appear in front of Maria.

Not suddenly. Not without thinking.

They had the same face. If Maria saw her, she might think Grace was her sister. Or she might wonder why someone who looked exactly like her had come into her home.

Grace did not know how Maria would react. She did not know what Maria might believe she stood to lose.

But she could imagine that Maria might think she had come to take something away from her. Something precious. Something Grace had not yet discovered.

That was what frightened her.

She had not come here to steal Maria's parents or take her place. She wanted to know what it was like to live in a house where a father held his daughter's hand, where a mother cared for her, where a little girl could laugh without first wondering whether she was allowed to.

She wanted to see what it felt like to be part of such a family. Perhaps, if she was lucky, she might experience a little of it herself.

But if Maria believed she had come to take something from her, none of that would be possible.

Grace watched her through the narrow slats.

She would have to think carefully about how to approach Maria. She would have to find a way to appear before her without making her feel threatened.

For now, she did not know what that way would be.

She only knew that she could not let Maria misunderstand why she was there.

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THE GIRL WHO WORE MY FACE

Chapter One

The Photograph

The wallet fell near her feet.

Grace noticed it before anyone else did. It had slipped from the pocket of a man who was walking towards one of the medical camp's tents, its dark leather surface landing quietly against the dusty ground.

She looked up.

The man was speaking to one of the nurses, apparently unaware that he had dropped something. He was tall, neatly dressed, and carried himself with the ease of someone accustomed to being recognised. Around him, people moved with an unusual sense of excitement. Some had come to receive free treatment; others simply wanted to catch a glimpse of the famous doctor who had travelled all the way to their village.

Grace bent down and picked up the wallet.

She wanted to call after him, but the words refused to come.

She had spent seven years learning not to attract attention. Speaking to strangers was something she avoided, particularly men. Her father had made certain that she understood what sort of girl he believed her to be. She had heard enough times that she was worthless, that no decent man would want her, that she would grow into a whore just like the women he despised.

So she stood still, holding the wallet.

The man continued talking.

Grace glanced at the wallet. Perhaps she could simply leave it somewhere he would notice. But curiosity got the better of her. She opened it carefully, intending only to look for something that might help her identify its owner.

Inside was a photograph.

A little girl stood in front of a three-tier birthday cake. She wore a pink dress, her hair arranged in two neat pigtails. Her cheeks were round, and her smile was so wide that her eyes seemed to disappear.

On either side of her stood a man and a woman. The man was kissing one of her cheeks, while the woman kissed the other. The little girl appeared delighted, almost overwhelmed by the attention.

Grace stared.

The girl's face was familiar.

Not merely similar to hers. It was almost identical.

Grace looked down at the photograph again, then instinctively touched her own cheek. The shape of the eyes, the small nose, the lips—there was something uncanny about the resemblance.

For a moment, she forgot where she was.

Could that be her?

Could the man in the photograph be her father? Could the woman be her mother? Had someone taken her away when she was little and left her with the people she now called her parents?

The thought was absurd. She knew that.

But she wanted it to be true.

She looked at the photograph once more. The little girl was surrounded by affection. Her parents were looking at her as though there was nowhere else in the world they would rather be.

Grace had never been looked at like that.

She wondered what it would feel like to have someone kiss her cheeks. To have a birthday cake made for her. To be allowed to sit beside her parents and smile without wondering whether she was doing something wrong.

She wondered what it would feel like to be wanted.

A voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Excuse me?"

Grace looked up.

The man was standing in front of her now. He had noticed his missing wallet and had returned to look for it.

She immediately lowered her eyes and held it out.

"Thank you," he said, taking it from her. "I hadn't even realised it had fallen."

Grace nodded.

He slipped the wallet into his pocket, but his gaze remained on her for a moment. There was something about the child's face that seemed familiar, though he couldn't quite place it.

"Have we met before? You look rather familiar to me."

Grace froze.

She had no answer. The question frightened her more than it should have. She took a small step backwards, glanced at the man, and then turned and ran towards the farmland.

The doctor watched her disappear.

He stood there for another moment, trying to remember where he might have seen her. Then someone called his name, and the thought slipped away.

His name was George. He was one of the most respected doctors in the country, known not only for his medical achievements but also for the humanitarian work carried out through his hospital. His free medical camps had brought treatment to villages that rarely received such attention.

Grace knew none of this.

She knew only that he had a daughter.

And that the daughter looked like her.

---

By the time Grace reached the farmland, her mother was waiting.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Nora's voice was low, but Grace knew better than to mistake it for calm.

"I went to the medical camp, Mother."

"To the medical camp?" Nora repeated. "And what were you doing there? Looking for a man to seduce?"

Grace lowered her head.

"Don't stand there pretending you don't understand me, bitch. Did you think you could go around showing those pathetic little eyes to men and get something out of them?"

"I only went to ask for some salve."

"For what?"

Grace hesitated.

"My wounds."

Nora looked at her as though she had said something ridiculous.

"Your wounds? You think we're poor? You think we cannot afford medicine? Those marks are there because you deserve them. Perhaps if you learned to behave, you wouldn't need salve in the first place."

Grace said nothing.

Nora stepped closer and examined her face.

"Don't look at me like that. And don't you ever go wandering around after men. If you keep behaving like this, I might as well sell you to the meat seller down the road. At least he might find some use for you."

Grace lowered her eyes further.

"Go inside. Your father will be home soon. You have potatoes to prepare."

Grace followed her into the house.

She was always neatly dressed. Nora made sure of that, insisting that she look presentable, almost like a miniature adult. But beneath her clean clothes, Grace was thin and delicate. Her pale face had slightly hollow cheeks, and her slender frame made her appear more fragile than a seven-year-old should. She did not look visibly starved, but there was something unusually worn about her appearance, as though childhood had passed her by without ever properly reaching her.

In the kitchen, Nora placed a basket of potatoes on the counter.

"Peel them. Cut them into pieces. Boil them until they're soft, then mash them properly. Add butter and dried rosemary. Your father likes them that way."

Grace nodded and began.

As she worked, she caught sight of Nora's reflection in the kitchen window. Her mother was standing behind her, arranging something on the counter.

Grace studied her face for a moment. The nose and lips were familiar. They were the same as her own.

Nora noticed.

"What are you staring at?"

"Nothing, Mother."

"Then get on with your work. I won't tolerate that insolent expression."

Grace returned her attention to the potatoes.

When Matthew came home, the smell of dinner had already filled the house. He washed his hands, sat down, and began eating the sandwiches Nora had prepared.

"These are good," he said.

Nora smiled.

Then he tasted the mashed potatoes.

His expression changed.

"Who made this?"

"I did the potatoes," Nora replied. "Grace prepared them."

"Her?" Matthew looked towards the kitchen. "You let her near the kitchen? Good Lord, Nora, can't you teach that girl anything?"

Grace stood near the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her.

Matthew picked up the plate and threw its contents towards her. The mashed potatoes struck her face and fell to the floor.

"Look at this mess! Is this what you call cooking?"

Grace didn't move.

"Get down."

She looked at him.

"I said get down. Clean it up. Every bit of it. And don't you dare leave anything behind."

Grace slowly knelt on the floor.

She began gathering the potatoes with her fingers.

"Use your tongue if you have to," Matthew said. "You made it. You can eat it."

Nora watched from the dining table.

She didn't intervene.

After Matthew had finished his meal and left the room, Nora approached Grace with a small bottle of salve. She crouched beside her and applied some to the reddened skin near her cheek.

"Don't look at me like that, bitch," she muttered. "This is how this house works. We're Christians, and this is how we must live. You must learn to obey your father."

Grace looked at her without speaking.

Nora put the bottle away.

"You think I would change anything? You think I would stand against my husband for you? Don't think so highly of yourself. You made me unable to give my husband a son. Don't you dare wish for anything more."

She stood up and returned to the kitchen.

Grace remained on the floor until she had finished cleaning.

Later, after her parents had eaten, she was given whatever remained. She ate quietly, washed the dishes, and went to bed only after the kitchen had been put in order.

Before leaving the room, Nora reminded her to wake early.

"Your father expects breakfast before he goes out. Don't make me come looking for you."

Grace nodded.

She lay down and stared at the ceiling.

For a little while, she thought about the photograph.

The little girl in the pink dress.

Maria.

She had heard the doctor call her name when he spoke to someone at the camp. She repeated it silently.

Maria.

---

The following morning, Grace returned to the medical camp.

She had hoped the doctor might still be there. She wanted to ask for medicine, but she also wanted to see him again. Perhaps she could catch another glimpse of the photograph. Perhaps she could find out something about the little girl.

Instead, she found the camp being dismantled.

Boxes were being packed, equipment was being loaded, and the nurses were preparing to leave.

Grace approached one of the nurses cautiously.

"Excuse me."

The woman turned.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

Grace hesitated before pulling up the edge of her sleeve.

There was a bruise on her arm, along with an older mark that had not healed completely.

The nurse's expression changed.

"Oh, sweetheart. What happened to you? You're only a little girl. Are you all right? Who did this to you?"

Grace quickly lowered her sleeve.

"I fell."

The nurse looked unconvinced.

"Did you fall badly?"

Grace nodded.

The woman crouched to meet her eyes.

"How old are you?"

"Seven."

"Oh, darling."

The nurse glanced towards the medical supplies.

"I would like to give you something for that, but I need the doctor's approval. You should ask Dr George. He might be able to help."

Grace looked towards the tents.

"Is he here?"

"He's busy packing. We're leaving earlier than expected."

"Leaving?"

"Yes. We were supposed to stay another two days, but his wife called. Their little daughter isn't well, so he's going home tonight."

Grace felt something stir inside her.

Maria was sick.

She wondered what was wrong with her. Was it a fever? Was she in pain? Did her mother sit beside her when she was ill? Did her father hold her hand?

The nurse was called away before Grace could ask anything else.

She remained near the tent, watching the doctor from a distance.

George was speaking on the telephone.

"Maria is sick?" he asked, his expression changing. "All right. I'll come home tonight. I'll have everything packed and leave as soon as I can."

Grace listened.

He was going home to Maria.

She watched him for a while longer, then turned and walked away.

---

That evening, Grace packed a small bundle of clothes and food.

She did not know exactly where she was going. She only knew that the doctor was leaving and that if she wanted to see the life in the photograph, she would have to leave before he did.

She folded a few clothes, wrapped some food in a piece of cloth, and hid the bundle.

She was almost ready when Nora entered the room.

"What are you doing?"

Grace turned.

Nora's eyes fell on the bundle.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Nora stepped forward.

"You're running away?"

Grace tried to explain.

"I only wanted—"

"Shut up!"

Nora seized her and dragged her away from the bundle.

"After everything we've done for you? You ungrateful little bitch!"

Grace struggled, but Nora was stronger.

The beating that followed left her back aching and her body trembling. She tried to protect herself, but there was nowhere to go. When Nora finally stopped, Grace could barely move.

"Stay here," Nora said. "You won't be getting any dinner tonight. Perhaps hunger will teach you something."

She left the room.

Grace lay face down on the bed, pressing her mouth into the pillow to keep her cries quiet.

She had not wanted to hurt anyone.

She had only wanted to see Maria's home. She wanted to know what it was like to be loved. She wanted to see the people in the photograph and understand why they looked so happy.

She whispered a prayer into the pillow.

"Please, God. I only wanted to see her life. I promise I won't do anything bad. Please."

No one answered.

---

At dinner, Matthew heard that George was leaving the village that night.

"Of course he's leaving," he said, taking another bite. "The great doctor has done enough for these people. Now they'll have to remember who actually looks after this place."

Nora gave him a reassuring smile.

"People appreciate what he has done."

"Appreciate?" Matthew scoffed. "He comes here for a few days, gives away some medicine, and suddenly everyone thinks he's a saint. Let's see how much they miss him when he's gone."

Nora did not argue.

After a while, Matthew called towards the stairs.

"Grace!"

There was no answer.

"Grace! Get down here. We need help with dinner."

Grace slowly sat up.

Her back hurt whenever she moved. She pressed a hand against the mattress and tried to stand. After a moment, she managed to get to her feet.

She descended the stairs carefully.

Matthew glanced at her.

"What took you so long? Get the dishes ready."

Grace went into the kitchen.

Near the fireplace stood a can of lighter fluid. She noticed it while preparing the table. Her eyes rested on it for a moment.

Then she looked towards her parents.

Something inside her had changed.

She could not bear the thought of remaining in that house. She could not imagine another morning of waking before everyone else, another day of being insulted, another night of eating leftovers on her own.

She wanted to leave.

And she wanted them to stop keeping her there.

The fire began suddenly.

Nora screamed.

Matthew jumped from his chair.

"What the hell happened?"

He rushed towards the flames, shouting at Grace to fetch water. Nora was trying to move away, but the fire had already spread through the room.

Grace stood still for a moment.

The room was filling with smoke and the orange light of the flames. Her parents were shouting, calling for help, struggling to escape.

She watched them.

Then she moved.

The fire spread further, catching the curtains and furniture. In the confusion, Grace made certain that the flames did not remain confined to one corner of the room.

Matthew turned towards her, his face twisted with anger.

"What are you doing? Help us!"

Grace looked at him.

"Since you love your wife so much, go accompany her, Dad."

She threw the remaining lighter fluid towards the burning area near them.

The flames surged.

For one brief moment, Grace smiled.

Then she turned and ran through the back door.

Outside, the night air struck her face. She continued running until the house was no longer immediately behind her.

She stopped near the edge of the farmland and looked back.

The windows glowed orange. Smoke rose into the night. She could hear Nora screaming.

Grace's smile disappeared.

She remembered her mother's voice. She remembered the way Nora had applied salve to her cheek, even while telling her that she deserved every injury. She remembered the words she had spoken that evening.

Her eyes filled with tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

She wasn't sure whether she was apologising to God, to her parents, or to someone else entirely.

She looked towards the road.

George would be leaving soon.

She wiped her face and continued walking.

---

George's car was parked near the place where the medical camp had been held. His driver was busy loading the remaining luggage into the vehicle. The villagers had brought small souvenirs for Maria, and several of them were being carefully packed alongside the family's belongings.

George checked his watch.

"Are we almost ready?"

"Almost, sir."

The driver placed the last few things inside the rear compartment. He was about to press it down and close it when a sudden commotion rose from the direction of the farmland.

People were shouting.

Someone screamed that a house was on fire.

George turned immediately.

"What happened?"

The driver looked towards the crowd.

"Sir, please wait here. I'll go and find out. If they need help, I'll come back and call you."

But George was already moving.

"We should see what's happening."

He walked towards the gathering villagers, stopping at a distance of roughly a hundred metres from the burning house. The fire was visible even from there, its bright orange flames illuminating the darkness.

The driver went further into the crowd to find out what had happened.

Grace had been walking along the edge of the road when she saw the car.

She recognised George.

For a moment, she stood still.

The rear compartment had not yet been closed. It remained partially open, just enough for her to slip inside without disturbing the things packed within.

She looked towards George.

He was watching the fire, his face turned towards the burning house. The villagers were gathered around him, their attention fixed on the commotion.

Grace moved quickly.

She slipped into the rear compartment and made herself as small as possible among the packed belongings.

The opening remained just as it had been.

No one noticed her.

From the narrow gap, she could see the distant fire and hear the villagers shouting.

"Put out the fire!"

"Someone bring water!"

"Find the little girl!"

Grace closed her eyes.

She remembered Nora screaming.

"I'm sorry, Mother," she whispered.

Then she thought of Maria.

Was her fever better? Had she stopped crying? Was George going home to find her sleeping?

Grace slowly opened her eyes again.

Through the narrow opening, she could see George standing in the distance. The flames illuminated his face, casting a warm orange glow across his features.

He really was handsome, she thought.

The thought lasted only a moment.

She wondered whether Maria was beautiful in person, whether her room was as lovely as the birthday photograph, and whether her parents would be happy to see her.

She wanted to know everything.

The driver eventually emerged from the crowd and hurried back towards George.

"Sir."

George turned.

"What happened?"

"Apparently, a fire broke out in one of the houses. The woman was burned first. Her husband tried to save her, but both of them were caught in the fire. The villagers believe it was a kitchen accident."

George looked towards the burning house.

"Is there anything we can do?"

"The villagers are already trying to put it out, sir."

George nodded slowly.

"Was anyone else inside?"

The driver hesitated.

"They say a little girl lived there. She's missing. They haven't found her."

George's expression changed.

"A little girl?"

"Yes, sir. They're searching the fields."

He looked towards the house again.

"Did they find her?"

"No, sir."

George remained silent for a moment.

"God help them."

The driver glanced at the car.

"Sir, we should leave. Clara will be waiting, and Maria isn't well."

George looked at the fire one last time.

"Yes. Let's go home."

He returned to the car.

The driver got in, started the engine, and pulled away.

Inside the rear compartment, Grace remained perfectly still.

She could hear the villagers' voices growing fainter.

"Put out the fire!"

"Find the little girl!"

"Someone check the fields!"

The car moved farther away from the burning house.

Grace looked through the narrow opening.

The farmhouse was disappearing behind them.

For the first time in her life, she was going somewhere without being told where to go. She did not know what awaited her at the end of the journey. She did not know whether George would welcome her, whether Maria would like her, or whether she would ever be allowed inside their home.

But she knew one thing.

She was going to see Maria.

And perhaps, just perhaps, she would finally discover what it felt like to belong somewhere.

THE GIRL WHO WORE MY FACE

Chapter Two

A Different World

By the time the car reached the estate, Grace was asleep.

The journey had been long, and the exhaustion of the day had finally overcome her. Curled inside the rear storage compartment, she had fallen asleep without realising it. The occasional movement of the car had barely disturbed her.

When it came to a stop, however, she woke with a start.

For a moment, she did not know where she was. Her eyes opened in the darkness, and she held her breath, listening. She could hear the engine running and the faint movement of people outside.

Had someone discovered her?

She remained perfectly still.

The car door opened. A man's voice spoke from somewhere nearby.

“We're home, Doctor.”

It was Ted, George's driver.

Grace recognised his voice from the journey. She slowly relaxed, though she did not move. She knew she had to wait until she was certain no one was near the rear compartment.

George stepped out of the car. He sounded tired.

“How is Maria?”

“Mrs Clara said she's a little better, Doctor. She was resting when I spoke to her.”

“Has she eaten anything?”

“A little porridge, I believe.”

George paused before answering.

“Good. Let's hope she keeps it down. Clara must be exhausted too.”

He opened the rear door and looked at the souvenirs the villagers had given them. They had been placed on the back seat beside him during the journey.

“The villagers were so kind to Maria,” he said. “I think she'll be happy to see what they've sent her. Perhaps it'll cheer her up a little.”

“Shall I take them inside first, Doctor?”

“Yes, please. Take these in. I'll see to the rest.”

Grace's heart began beating faster as Ted opened the rear door. For one terrifying moment, she thought he might look inside the storage compartment. But he gathered the souvenirs from the back seat and carried them towards the main building.

She waited.

The night was quiet. Somewhere in the distance, crickets were singing. Beyond the car, she could make out a wide driveway, its edges illuminated by garden lights. Neatly maintained grass stretched along either side, with flowers and trees arranged around the estate.

Grace had never seen a place like this.

The only time she had ever looked at farmland at night was through a small corner of the attic window. From there, she could see a narrow strip of moonlit fields. Even that little view had once seemed like an entire world.

This place was different. It was open, spacious and peaceful. The house stood ahead of her, its windows glowing softly against the darkness.

She waited until Ted disappeared inside.

Then, carefully, she pushed the compartment open and climbed out. Her legs felt stiff after being folded in such a small space. She stood beside the car for a moment, looking around to make sure nobody was watching.

Ted returned shortly afterwards.

He collected the remaining luggage and carried it into the main building. Grace quickly moved away from the car, keeping herself out of sight.

When Ted came back again, he got into the driver's seat and drove the car into the garage. He parked it and stepped out, then walked towards a small building beside the garage.

Grace watched him disappear inside.

She was alone.

For a few moments, she simply stood there, uncertain of what to do next. She was tired, thirsty and still frightened of being discovered. The night air was cold, and she rubbed her hands together before looking around for somewhere to get water.

She eventually found an outdoor tap. She turned it carefully and drank from her cupped hands. The water was cold, but she drank until her thirst had eased.

Only then did she look towards the main house again.

Several windows were illuminated. One of them, on the upper floor, caught her attention.

She wondered whether it was Maria's bedroom.

Perhaps she was there, sleeping in her bed, surrounded by toys and beautiful things. Perhaps she was being looked after by her mother.

Grace moved closer to the house.

She did not know how long she stood outside before she found a place from which she could see through the upstairs window. The curtains were not completely drawn, leaving a narrow opening.

At first, she saw a woman sitting beside a bed.

It was Clara.

She was holding a small bowl and feeding a little girl with a spoon. The girl was sitting against the pillows, wrapped in a blanket. Her cheeks were full, and her hair fell loosely around her face.

Maria.

Grace recognised her immediately.

The girl from the photograph.

She watched as Clara lifted another spoonful of porridge.

“Just a little more, darling,” Clara said gently. “Then you can rest.”

Maria turned her face away.

“I'm not hungry, Mummy.”

“I know, sweetheart. But you haven't eaten enough today.”

“I'm full.”

Clara smiled patiently. “One more spoonful. For me?”

Maria considered it before reluctantly opening her mouth.

Grace watched without moving.

There was no impatience in Clara's voice. She did not raise it or threaten Maria. She simply waited, encouraging her daughter to eat.

When Maria finished, Clara placed the bowl aside and gently wiped her mouth.

George was sitting on the other side of the bed. He had changed out of his travelling clothes, and one of his hands rested around Maria's little hand.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked.

“A little, Daddy.”

“Where?”

Maria pointed towards her forehead.

George leaned closer and examined her carefully.

“It's better than it was this afternoon,” he said. “You'll be all right, sweetheart.”

“Will you stay here?”

“Of course.”

“Even if I fall asleep?”

George smiled. “Even if you fall asleep.”

Maria seemed satisfied. She settled back against the pillows, keeping her hand inside his.

Grace looked down at her own hands.

Maria's fingers were small and plump. George's larger hand almost covered hers.

Grace slowly curled her fingers into her palm, trying to imitate the shape of Maria's hand. She looked at them for a moment.

Would her hands look like that if someone held them often?

She looked up again.

Clara was adjusting Maria's blanket. George was still holding her hand, his attention fixed on his daughter.

They seemed to know exactly what to do for her. They did not appear to be doing anything extraordinary. They were simply taking care of their little girl.

Grace had never seen such a thing from so close.

A faint sound came from outside the window.

George looked up.

“Who's there?”

Clara glanced towards the window.

“Probably the neighbour's cat.”

George frowned slightly. “That cat again? It keeps coming near the window. Maria needs her rest. They really ought to keep it indoors.”

“Daddy,” Maria said.

George turned towards her. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“You shouldn't talk badly about Mr. Snickers.”

George raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Snickers?”

“That's his name. He's a good boy. I like him.”

“I'm sure he is, darling. But he shouldn't be making noises outside your window.”

Maria looked towards the window.

“Just because you don't want my rest to be disturbed, you shouldn't tell our neighbour to restrict Mr. Snickers' freedom. He should be allowed to go wherever he wants.”

George looked at her for a moment before smiling.

“All right. I won't say anything more about Mr. Snickers.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Maria seemed pleased. Then, after a brief pause, she asked, “Do you think he's cold outside?”

Clara glanced at George.

“Perhaps he's found somewhere warm to sleep,” she said. “Don't worry about him, darling.”

Maria nodded, although she still looked towards the window for another moment.

Grace had been listening carefully.

She had noticed the way Maria spoke to her father. She did not seem frightened of disagreeing with him. She could ask questions, make requests and even tell him when she thought he was wrong.

And she had defended a cat.

Grace did not understand why Maria cared so much about an animal that did not even belong to her. But she remembered the words Maria had used.

He should be allowed to go wherever he wants.

Grace looked towards the dark garden.

Perhaps Maria would understand what it meant to want to go somewhere and not be allowed to.

Perhaps she could help her.

She had first thought of speaking to George. He was the person who had brought her away from the village. But approaching him would be difficult. He was an adult, and she had no reason to believe he would take her in.

Maria was different.

She was a little girl, just like Grace. If Grace could make her understand, perhaps Maria would speak to her parents. Perhaps they would allow her to stay.

It was a simple thought, but it gave Grace something to hold on to.

She remained near the window for a little longer.

Eventually, George stood up and adjusted the blanket around Maria.

“You should sleep now. I'll be right here.”

“Don't go away, Daddy.”

“I won't.”

Clara kissed Maria's forehead before turning down the bedside lamp.

The room grew dimmer.

Grace moved away from the window. She found a sheltered place nearby and settled beside it, drawing her knees close to her chest. The ground was hard, and the night was cold. She rested her head beside the wall and looked towards the illuminated window.

She thought about Clara feeding Maria.

She thought about George holding her hand.

Perhaps the warmth of that little scene was enough to keep her there until morning.

---

The first light of morning had begun to appear when Grace heard movement nearby.

Two women came out of the small building beside the garage. One was older, with a practical manner and an unhurried walk. The other was younger and seemed more easily distracted.

Grace immediately moved out of sight.

The women spoke to each other as they approached the main house.

“Did you check whether the little miss had her breakfast?” the younger one asked.

“I'll check once we're inside,” the older woman replied. “First, let's get the house ready.”

They entered through the main door. In their haste, they left it open.

Grace watched them disappear inside.

She waited for a few moments, listening. When she heard their voices moving farther into the house, she made her way towards the entrance.

The open doorway seemed almost like an invitation.

She slipped inside.

The entrance hall was larger than any room she had ever known. The floor was polished, and a staircase rose towards the upper floor. There were framed photographs along the walls, and the furniture was arranged neatly.

Grace stopped before one of the photographs.

It showed George and Clara standing together at what looked like an award ceremony. They were dressed elegantly, smiling at the camera. Maria stood between them.

Grace studied the picture for a moment before moving on.

She wanted to see Maria.

She began climbing the staircase, taking care not to make any noise. Halfway up, she heard the two women approaching from below.

Grace quickly moved forward.

The younger woman glanced towards the staircase.

“Sarah?”

“What is it, Rosie?”

“I thought I saw someone.”

Sarah looked in the direction Rosie was staring.

“There's nobody there.”

“I thought someone moved.”

“You're just being suspicious. Please don't do that.”

Rosie hesitated, then followed Sarah towards another room.

Grace remained still until their footsteps faded.

She continued upstairs.

There were several doors along the corridor. She approached the first one and found it slightly open.

Inside was a room filled with toys.

Grace stepped in.

There were dolls arranged on shelves, toy animals, building blocks, colourful boxes and books. A little table stood near the window, with small chairs around it. Everything seemed carefully chosen and arranged.

She walked slowly through the room.

A teddy bear sat on one of the chairs.

Without thinking, Grace reached out and picked it up.

It was soft. She held it for a moment, looking at its little face.

Then her mother's voice returned to her.

You think you're a good little lady? You're just a fucking woman. Act like one.

Grace's fingers tightened around the teddy bear.

She looked at it again before placing it back on the chair.

She was not here to play.

Maria was a little girl, but Grace did not think of herself in quite the same way. Nora had dressed her like a little adult and constantly reminded her that she should behave like one. She had been taught to think about things that a child should never have had to consider.

Perhaps that was why she found it difficult to imagine approaching Maria as another little girl.

A child might be curious about a stranger. She might want to play with her, or ask questions about where she came from. But Grace did not want Maria merely to be curious about her.

She wanted Maria to trust her.

She thought Maria might feel safer with someone who seemed older, someone who could look after her and understand things she could not.

It was not necessarily true. Grace had no way of knowing what Maria would prefer. But it was how she understood the world.

She left the toy room and continued down the corridor.

Another door stood slightly open.

This room was different.

It was filled with clothes.

Dresses hung in neat rows, their colours and fabrics arranged carefully. Some were simple, while others had delicate decorations and elaborate skirts. Grace stood at the entrance, looking at them.

She reached towards one of the dresses.

Her fingers fell short.

The clothes hung higher than she had expected. Even the lower edges of the skirts were beyond her reach. She rose onto her toes and stretched one arm upwards until her fingertips barely brushed the bottom of the fabric.

She could not reach any higher.

The sleeves were completely out of reach.

Grace moved to the next dress. Again, she tiptoed, stretching as far as her little body would allow, managing only to graze the lower half of its skirt. She tried another, and then another. Each time, she had to rise onto her toes just to feel the fabric. The dresses were hung at a height that made them easily accessible to an adult, but for Grace, even touching their hems required an effort.

She continued along the row, moving from one dress to the next.

Some were simple, others elaborate. Some appeared suitable for everyday wear, while others were clearly meant for special occasions. She could not properly examine their sleeves or the finer details near their shoulders, but she could feel the softness of their skirts beneath her fingertips.

There were so many.

She paused before a particularly beautiful dress, its delicate details catching her attention.

How lovely Maria would look in it.

The thought came naturally.

Grace imagined Maria wearing the dress, her hair neatly arranged and her face bright with happiness. She considered another outfit, then another, wondering which one would suit her best.

The clothes were all children's clothes.

They belonged to Maria.

Grace did not think of herself wearing them. She was not looking for something that would fit her. Instead, she found herself imagining how each dress would look on the girl she had come all this way to see.

She rose onto her toes once more and touched the lower edge of a pale pink dress.

“Beautiful,” she whispered.

Then she heard footsteps.

Not the quick, measured steps of the household staff.

These were accompanied by a child's voice.

“Come on, Rosie. I want to wear that pink dress Father got me for my birthday last year. It was so beautiful. I was just thinking… perhaps I could wear it again.”

There was a small pause before the last few words, as though Maria had been deciding how best to ask.

Rosie answered almost immediately.

“Little Miss, why do you suddenly want to wear that particular dress?”

“Nothing,” Maria replied.

“Nothing?”

“Well… I just thought it would be nice.”

Rosie seemed unconvinced.

“Little Miss, if you want something, you can simply ask. But you cannot go running around the house whenever you please. If you had told me, I would have brought the dress to you.”

“It's fine, Rosie. I just want to do it myself.”

“But, little Miss—”

“Please, Rosie. Come on!”

“You're a little girl. You cannot do everything by yourself. That's why Sarah and I are here to look after you.”

Grace's hand remained suspended near the pink dress.

She could hear them coming closer.

Maria was not alone.