I had a choice, she wrote. I could tell you the truth and let it crush you. Or I could tell you they were gone and that none of it was your fault.
I chose the story that let you sleep.
You were never an orphan.
I lowered the letter and sat there shaking.
Seventeen years later, I stood in a cramped dressing room, staring at my reflection under harsh lights. A cheap costume. Smudged makeup.
On the counter sat a small glass award with my name etched into it.
Best Actress – Regional Theatre.
Not huge.
But mine.
I laid the letter beside it.
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