make choices for her.”
A baby cried inside the house.
Then Livia stepped into the hallway.
Her hair was shorter. Her face was thinner.
But it was her.
My daughter.
Holding a baby wrapped in yellow.
“Livia,” I whispered.
I stepped forward.
She stepped back.
“Please don’t yell,” she said.
Those three words hurt more than any accusation.
I almost said, “How could you do this to me?”
But Liam’s warning echoed in my head.
So I stopped.
“No,” I said. “That’s the wrong question.”
Livia stared at me.
“What
