Months After My 4-Year-Old Daughter Died, I Saw a Man in a Chicken Costume – When He Turned, My Blood Went Cold

“Addison, I said you should pick out a balloon.” Evan’s voice was sharper this time.

She nodded quickly and hurried toward the balloon vendor.

I watched that little figure I’d mourned for six months skip away like any normal happy child.

The moment she was out of earshot, I stepped closer to Evan.

“She died six months ago. How do you have her, Evan?

What did you do?”

His eyes flicked toward the crowd, scanning for witnesses or escape routes. “Lower your voice.”

“No!” I said it loud enough that a couple walking past glanced our way.

He exhaled slowly through his nose.

When he spoke, his voice was flat, almost bored.

The words didn’t make sense at first. “What are you talking about?”

“When you told me you were expecting twins, I made it clear that I couldn’t handle two babies at once. Do you remember that conversation?”

Of course I did.

He’d said it like I could absorb one of the babies like a rabbit doe.

When the twins were born, he walked out.

When the doctor told me one of the girls hadn’t made it, he never even answered my call.

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