they put me in the back of the polic

w, wrapped in a blanket, being comforted by my biological father, M

w enough that only I could hear him through the open window.

mmed shut, cutti

y words, my history. My biological parents, the Clarks, arrived. They didn'

n my veins, finally turned to face m

r everything we've done for you, you

oice trembling. "And I didn't do it

p echoed in the small room, my head s

hissed. "You will confess. You will ta

peeking from behind them, a tiny, triumphant smile on her face. In tha

l. A confession would mean a lighter sentence. A trial, he said, would be messy, and

life inside me, and a wave of terror washed over me. I couldn't put my child through

"Fine," I said, my voi

ocking with my father's. "And it's the last thing I will ever

fession, the ink