I was eighteen when I fought to keep my seven siblings together after our parents died. For three years, I thought I was barely holding us above water. Then my youngest brother found an old photo, and the truth on the back changed everything I believed about my family.
I was eighteen when I opened the door and found two police officers on our porch.
Behind me, Lila was laughing in the kitchen because Tommy had poured cereal into a saucepan and called it “breakfast soup.”s” Phoebe was yelling and calling him gross. Sybil was looking for her left shoe.
Ethan and Adam were arguing over a hoodie neither of them owned, and Benji was dragging his blanket across the floor like a tiny, tired ghost.
For ten seconds, life was normal.
I was eighteen.
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