would assume the worst.
Another letter said Mitchell had begged her to call me.
He had told her I loved her.
But Livia wrote:
“That’s the problem. She loves me like a locked door.”
I kept reading.
Natalie had opened the door to Livia in the middle of the night and taken her in without blame, without judgment, without demanding answers.
I wanted to hate Natalie.
Instead, shame burned through me.
The sonogram was dated six weeks after prom.
The hospital bracelet showed that Livia’s baby, Rose, was already three
