Changeling: Confronting an Unusual Truth

She had become paranoid, constantly on edge, watching over the baby. Then, one morning, she freaked out, claiming that Lyra wasn’t our daughter.

The women exchanged confused looks.

Majella, eyes darting between the spoon and Paul, asked, "She said...Lyra isn’t her daughter?"

"Yes—but no. She knows Lyra is ours. She says that..." He pointed to the baby, happily eating applesauce, "...that isn’t Lyra."

Mariam's voice trembled. "I don’t understand."

Paul sighed, recounting the horror of finding his wife abandon their daughter in the woods. "She kept saying she’s a changeling."

Mariam groaned. "I told you not to fill her head with that nonsense."

Majella, sternly speaking in Gaelic, replied, "Don’t speak ill of the fae. Elodie’s a smart lass." Turning to Paul, she asked, "What made her think Lyra’s a changeling?"

"She said the birthmark’s wrong, but it’s the same as it’s always been."

Paul showed them a photo of Lyra from her first month, the birthmark clearly visible. Both women looked closely at the baby’s shoulder. A long pause followed.

Majella’s eyes widened in disbelief, her voice trembling in Gaelic.

"What’s wrong?" Paul asked, anxious.

Mariam spoke softly, "She’s right."

"Excuse me?"

Mariam stood, putting space between herself and Majella. "Elodie’s right. It’s different. Look."

Paul stared at the picture again. The birthmark was the same...but mirrored.