I took a slow breath of the cool air.

The exhaustion and the grief and the bitter shock of the betrayal had loosened their grip, and under them was something I had not felt in years.

“I feel like I’m finally awake,” I said.

On the side table beside me sat a small silver band — the hospital ID bracelet Isla had worn the day she was born, the one I had looked at while her father told me she was a liability.

I keep it where I can see it.