“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…”

ever do would make me send you away.”

A tear slipped free, tracking down her cheek. “But what about the mark? The numbers?”

I pulled her into my chest, burying my face in her hair. “That mark is a record of what they did to you. It is a map of where you have been. But it has absolutely nothing to do with who you are.”

For the very first time, Clara didn’t continue reading …