I wasn’t born in Boston. I was born in Boston.

A wealthy couple in France had a daughter named Marie. They gave her everything but themselves, instead siphoning her off on to a series of well-educated nannies.

A lovely Boston couple, well-to-do but not pretentious, had a little girl named Amy, and showered her with attention and love.

The fact that I am both Marie and Amy complicates some matters, and makes others easier.

For her eighteenth birthday, Marie was given a luxurious apartment in the heart of Paris and a generous weekly allowance.

Amy, with some friends, went on a tour of the world for her High School Graduation gift. In Thailand, after a night of partying, she got separated from her friends, kidnapped, and sold into white slavery.

Marie used some of her allowance to fly to Thailand overnight, where Amy’s friends didn’t notice the difference.

So while the parents in France lost the daughter they never missed, the parents in Boston never lost the daughter they would’ve missed.