the house when I was nine, and you wouldn’t let her in. She said she called and you hung up on her. She said she wanted to come to my high school graduation, and you told her I didn’t want her there.”
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I felt like somebody had punched me in the stomach.
“Hannah,” I said slowly. “That’s not true.”
“Then why would she say it?”
I opened my mouth. I closed it again.
Because I knew why she would say it. Because she’d walked into a house full of love that she didn’t build, and she wanted to belong in it. Because the only way she could be the hero of Hannah’s
story was if somebody else was the villain.
But I couldn’t say that. Not without saying everything.
Not without telling Hannah that the woman who sent her all those birthday cards had never sentWomen’s fashion advice
