Deanna looks from her husband's portrait to her daughter, her chest caving in under the weight of her grief. How could she not have loved her own flesh and blood? Tara was a piece of her very soul.
When Tara vanished all those years ago, Deanna had lost her mind. She deployed search teams daily, spending hours staring blankly at photos of her missing baby. The longing had mutated into a suffocating, clinical depression. She thought about ending her life daily, secretly visiting psychiatrists and swallowing handfuls of pills just to function. To the outside world, she maintained the illusion of a vibrant, perfectly happy socialite. Smiling depression—a clinical term that sounded so neat, but was a living hell.
Then Charles brought Jade home.
For Deanna, Jade became a lifeline. In a desperate, manic bid to survive her own mind, she transferred every ounce of her maternal obsession onto the adopted girl. It was entirely out of her control—a psychological dam breaking. It was the only way she could breathe.
But that coping mechanism quickly warped into something toxic. It became an addiction. Even when the real Tara finally returned, Deanna couldn't shut off her obsessive devotion to Jade. Poisoned by Jade's constant manipulation, Deanna remained trapped in her own sickness, showering affection on a counterfeit daughter while icing out her real one.
She had been so profoundly ill. And now, the disease has ravaged her physically as well.


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