Before Anne, she was Ellie Martin, young widow wondering if she could ever love again. Before that there was Marlie Croft, an orphan looking for her lost family. Before that. Before that. She was a Russian doll, every shell a different face, a different color. Right now, her hair was black—but she’d been a blonde, a redhead, a mousy brunette. She’d gained weight, lost it. She was good at becoming. The only problem was that the real person was buried deep, so tiny and formless that Anne could barely remember her.
