I still remembered the day she was born. Sixteen years, eleven months, and eighteen days ago. That crisp November morning when my mother let me hold her and then my father immediately took her out of my arms and laid her next to Trevor, who was just a baby then, too. Even at three I understood. She was Trevor’s. And I just sat there, wanting her back, wanting to see the baby, and wanting to be included in the fun, but I didn’t dare approach my father. He would’ve pushed me away.
