“Like you selling it for my birthday,” she said.
“Like you hiding the truth in your shirt,” I said.
She wears the locket and the moon shirt together now, the two things that saved us, one bought with a sacrifice and one carrying a secret.
Collin’s lawyer stood in that courtroom and said loving a child doesn’t excuse an unstable life.
He was half right.
Loving a child doesn’t excuse anything.
It just makes an eight-year-old brave enough to record the truth and sew it behind a little silver moon, and wait, and trust her mother would never stop fighting long enough for it to matter.
We did the hard ones first, Lark and I.
Together.
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