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”

Ruth.

“I want to stop being a ghost.”

She was watching me, small and stiff beside Andy. He raised one hand, silently asking if I was okay.

I wasn’t.

But I could still stand.

“You’ll give me your number,” I told Joan. “Your real one. You’ll meet me tomorrow, somewhere quiet. You won’t go near Ruth until I decide how to tell her.”

“You’ll give me your number.continue reading …