She called me once, from an unknown number, six months later — not to apologize for the forgery, but for never calling me before the news broke.

“I knew they treated you differently,” she wept.

“I knew they were cruel.

I just liked being the daughter they were proud to display in the window.

I didn’t want to lose my spot.” It hurt, because it was the most honest thing she had ever said to me.

I didn’t curse her out.