It had stripped away everything false until only the chosen parts remained.
The man who raised me was not my biological father, but he had once risked everything to protect me—and later betrayed that love by trying to control it.
The woman I buried was not the mother who raised me, but she had given me life and died trying to save it.
The mother who raised me was not dead, and though she had abandoned me to survive, she had never stopped watching.
My sister was not one year younger.
She was seven minutes younger, biologically mine in every way, and stronger than anyone had understood.
And Ben had not married Rosie for money, pity, strategy, or access to me.
He had married her for the reason strangers had always refused to imagine.
He loved her.
The conspiracy was real.
The danger was real.
The secrets behind their wedding had been worse than anything I feared.
But the marriage itself was the truest thing in our lives.
