night, sleep never came. I kept seeing Leo’s face every time I closed my eyes. I thought about seven birthdays I had missed, seven Christmas mornings when he had opened presents without knowing my name, seven years of scraped knees, school photographs, illnesses, jokes, fears, and ordinary afternoons that no apology could return to me.
The temptation to blame everything on Wendy was powerful, but the truth was harder. My mother had made an unforgivable choice, yet my own pride had created the opening she used. I had refused to
