“When did it happen?” Edel asked once her husband had left the room. “When did what happen?” “When did you lose yourself?” “The day I was born.” Sadness filled her eyes. “And the drugs?” I stiffened. “I’m not blind, love,” she said in a gentle tone, inclining her head to where I had my sleeves rolled up to my elbows. “I don’t come from a sheltered home, either, which means that I know track marks when I see them.” Ashamed, I pushed my sleeves down and stared at the counter. “How long has it been since you last shot up?” I remained silent, knowing there was no right answer to this question. “A
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