My Lost Daughter by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

The only way they could afford to get by was for Lily to continue working. John encouraged her desire to become an attorney, continually talking about all the money she would make and how they would never have to pinch pennies again. “You go to law school, and I’ll open my own personnel agency. We’ll have it made.” Lily worked the graveyard shift and attended classes during the day, leaving Shana with the babysitter only during the hours she was in class. The remainder of the day and evening, prior to the start of her shift at the hospital, Lily carried her daughter around with her, chatting with the baby as if she were an adult.
    Lily remembered the exact moment Shana started to talk. It wasn’t remarkable, she only said “da da” like all babies, but in no time she started chattering away. All the words Lily had said to her seemed to pop back out like magic. The more the child talked, the more Lily talked to her, until Shana developed a fairly extensive vocabulary. People would ask her name and Shana would smile and say, “Plaintiff.” Thinking she had said “plain tough,” they would roar with laughter. Shana would clap, giggle, and say it again.
    Lily had never once spanked her. She read every book she could get on parenting. “We don’t bite children,” she’d tell her, “but we can bite an apple.”
    Although Lily slept only a few hours a day, napping when Shana napped and nodding off at work during the early morning hours, she was happy. She had no time to worry about her relationship with John. Her grueling schedule left little time for anyone other than her daughter. Oddly, John didn’t seem to mind. He’d stopped having sex with Lily not long after Shana was born. Lily had tried to rekindle that part of their life but had not had much success.
    She accepted a position with the district attorney’s office as soon as Shana enteredkindergarten. Every morning Lily would make her lunch and walk her to school before work. Shana’s classmates and teachers adored her. She knew how to share, loved to make other children and adults laugh, and looked as if she’d stepped out of a Disney movie with her freckled face and carrot-colored hair.
    In a way, those first words, “plain tough,” also applied to little Shana. Lily had raised her to fear nothing, wanting her to be able to protect herself against anyone and anything that came her way. Just as she had taught Shana how to share and be kind to others, she’d taught her to be strong, brave, and mature. “When I’m not here,” Lily would tell her, “or your daddy’s not here, if anything bad ever happens, then you must believe you’re a grown-up and do exactly what a grown-up would do. Believe you can do it because you can.” Shana would always blink her eyes and smile when Lily made her speech. She looked for occasions when she could prove herself to her mother, knowing it would make Lily smile with approval. With Lily’s encouragement she climbed trees, played ball, would stomp on a spider rather than scream, and once punched a neighbor’s dog in the nose when it growled at her. Afterward, she ran home and leapt into her mother’s arms, bursting with pride. To John and Lily, she was the golden child, the magic child.
    As the years went by and the magic persisted, Shana learned to see it and use it for the power it afforded her. Seeking to bask in her light, her friends would do her homework, give her money, and let her wear their new clothes, many times before they’d even had a chance to wear them.
    Shana had started to change around her tenth birthday. John’s influence grew stronger, and the girl began snapping at her parents. She also developed quite a temper. Lily refused to tolerate it, but John undermined Lily’s attempts to discipline her and allowed Shana to order him around like a servant. The fissure between them