Part 2: My aunt wanted to adopt my little sister after our parents d*ed just to get her hands on the money — she had no idea I had one more card to play.

You were angry at everyone.

I laughed.

“Sounds right.”

Vicky nodded solemnly.

“Very right.”

I kept reading.

You refused to sleep unless your father walked around the living room carrying you.

For six weeks, he walked miles without leaving the house.

Tears blurred the page.

People often say adopted children are chosen.

I never liked that phrase.

I frowned.

It makes love sound like shopping.

A laugh escaped me.

That was Mom.

The truth is simpler.

You arrived.

We loved you.

You were ours.

I stopped.

Vicky leaned against my arm.

I continued.

Years later, when Victoria was born, your father worried you might feel different.

Instead, you sat beside her crib for three hours because you were convinced she would stop breathing if you looked away.

I remembered none of that.

You have protected her since the day she came home.

My throat closed.

But please remember something.

The next sentence had been underlined twice.