AT MY SISTER’S WEDDING, SHE SMIRKED AND SAID, “GO FIND ANOTHER TABLE, ADOPTED GIRL”

the dark, the certificate in my purse on the passenger seat, the names on it still burning behind my eyes.

I’m not going to write them yet.

You’ll understand why in a minute.

Twenty-Two Years of Footnotes

Here’s the thing nobody tells you about being the “adopted one.”

It’s not the cruelty you remember. Cruelty you can name. You can point at it. That was continue reading …