“Don’t,” Jessica said, reaching for his sleeve.

“You let everyone believe,” Adam said slowly, “that your sister was disfigured saving you from an accident.

For twelve years.

You let her be the tragic hero of a story where you were the innocent victim, and the whole time — ”

“I was seventeen!” Jessica cried.

“So was I,” I said quietly.

And that landed on the room harder than anything else I had said, because it was so simple and so complete.

We had been the same age.