The Impostor has left. We don't know who she was. We never did get a ransom note. But we're happy she stopped wearing Hope's clothes, slurping her Pediasure and soiling her diapers.
It was a strange, creepy trick, not unlike whoozit -- Beelzebub? -- and Regan MacNeil in "The Exorcist." We figure the Impostor must've pulled the switcheroo somewhere in Cleveland, giving Hope the heave-ho and pulling the doppelganger routine on us.
We know it couldn't have been our happy-go-lucky, inquisitive, curiously-obsessed-with-buttons-and-zippers-fussbudget. The Impostor cried a lot, didn't seem to care about much besides sleeping and generally seemed aloof and miserable.
After two weeks of dealing with the no-goodnik, we were happy to show her the door and welcome back the kid who laughs uproariously when we put a pair of way-too-big glasses on her face. We dig her. She's mostly all the way back now, although the Impostor has been seen lurking in the driveway, tossing dice and muttering under her breath.
It was a rough go for a while, dealing with the Impostor. But Hope had it far worse, dealing as she was with whatever it was for two weeks. The fog lifted slowly, but it's been sweet and nice to be reacquainted with our happy girl. We missed her a lot.