“I think you have a sister,” Cat says. I look at that image, my mother holding the hand of the girl the same age that I was when she left. The little girl looks up at her, happy and trusting. I tear the picture in half, ripping mother and daughter apart. Cat stares at me, stunned. I rip those pieces into smaller pieces and I throw them on the floor. It does nothing to stifle my rage. That paper might as well be tinder—my fury flames up ten times higher. Cat is open-mouthed, already backing away from me. “You had no right,” I hiss, the anger rising and rising. “But I—” “YOU HAD NO RIGHT!” I
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