“And she’s like, my best friend. I don’t have any friends, really, just her. But I can tell her anything! Anything at all, and she’ll just listen.”

After they took me away from Dad, one of the first things they made me do was talk to this therapist. This was the sixth week now. I didn’t like being here; it scared me, the thought of having someone trying to find out my secrets. But talking about Gracie seemed safe enough.

“But the thing is, part of me just hates her! She’s everything I wish I was. She’s smart, and always happy. And Dad never hit her...but still, I love her.”

“Sweetie…” I think the counselor wants to say something, but I really don’t want to hear it.

“I never really understood it…he just likes Gracie better. We’re twins, you know, mirror image—” she’s leaning forward, like there’s something she really needs to say.

She interrupts my prattling, gently taking my hands. “Sweetie,” she says softly. “You don’t have a twin sister.”

Is it my head? Am I crazy?

“You don’t have a sister.”