“I adopted a sweet 7-year-old orphan, but while washing her back on the first night, I discovered a scar shaped like a notorious cartel symbol. My blood ran cold. I locked the bathroom door and secretly dialed 911, stuttering, ‘Send help, she isn’t who you think-‘ Before I could finish, she effortlessly shattered the heavy lock, grabbed the phone, and said…”

told me her favorite color was purple.

Slowly, agonizingly, a tiny hand emerged from the sleeve, snatching a dark crayon. She didn’t draw a flower or a sun. She sketched a rigid, blocky house. A heavy door. And then, with violent, pressing strokes, she dragged thick black lines vertically across the entrance.

“Is it raining in your picture, sweetheart?continue reading …