It all started with the yard sale. Ivy was eight months and one week pregnant when she insisted that she and her husband, David, clean out the junk they’d inherited with with the old Victorian house they’d bought three years before. Call it nesting, call it nerves—she just wanted it all gone: the old electrical fixtures, the boxes of National Geographic from the 1960s, the four black wool greatcoats. Neither she nor David recognized the woman at first. But it turned out that the customer asking about the lime-green glass swan dish—the woman who looked just about as pregnant as Ivy—was none other than Melinda White, a former high school classmate of David and Ivy’s. When Melinda was a child she used to play in their new house, she explained. Would it be all right if she took a look around? David took Melinda inside. And she never came out.