I raised my niece on my own — eight years later, she pointed at a woman in the next beach changing cubicle and whispered, “Aunty, look… she has my mark”

and held her by both shoulders.

“Baby, listen to me. I need to talk to her first.”

“But is she?”

I swallowed hard. “I think she might be.”

Ruth’s eyes welled up.

I kissed her forehead. “Go, baby. Go with Andy. I’ll figure this out and tell you everything. I promise.”

“I think she might be.”

Andy knelt beside her. “Come on, kiddo.continue reading …