For years, I kept asking myself what I had done to make my stepdaughter shut me out of her life.
Eventually, I convinced myself I would probably never know.
Then one afternoon, a box appeared in my living room.
And everything I believed about the last twelve years fell apart.
The box sat in the center of the rug like it was alive.
My name was written across the top in handwriting I hadn’t seen in more than a decade.
Alice.
The letters were neat and looping.
I recognized the
