“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…”

and said, “You can turn off the hallway light, Emily.”

On the morning the final adoption decree was signed, the clerk handed me the heavy, embossed paper bearing Clara’s new, permanent legal name. My vision blurred with unshed tears.

Clara tugged on the fabric of my coat, looking up with wide, hopeful eyes. “Does this mean I get to keep the purple room continue reading …