“No.”
“Then what exactly did I fall for?”
Thomas looked at the envelope.
“The belief that you owed Richard something.”
I stopped breathing.
He continued quietly.
“You believed he rescued you and Emily.”
“He did.”
“No, Anna.”
Thomas’s eyes met mine.
“That is the first lie Richard wanted buried with him.”
I learned fear before I learned multiplication.
Not ordinary fear.
Not monsters under the bed.
Not darkness.
I learned the fear of black garbage bags.
People who grow up in stable homes think garbage bags are for trash.
Children in foster care learn differently.
Garbage bags carry your clothes when a placement ends.
Your toothbrush.
