“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…”

forever?”

A wet laugh escaped my throat. “Yes, my love. The purple room is yours forever.”

That evening, I dragged the heavy plastic bin out from beneath my bed. I looked at the mountain of paperwork that had dictated my worth for three years. The tax returns. The background checks. The forms that insisted my love was statistically insufficient.

I gently continue reading …