Twenty-three
“Yes, I remember,” Amelia said. “I remember almost everything.” The details of the kidnapping were still hazy and incomplete and probably always would be. It was a huge relief to still remember Amelia. To wake knowing, even if it hurt. It was a relief to have faced the void, to know what was behind the fog that had been her memory. It had been ugly, that last terrible scene when her father told her he wasn’t her father, had never wanted to be, but it hadn’t killed her. She was still here.
So was the question, who am I?
Amelia seemed to be locked firmly inside Prudence, but the fit was a bad one. It was like wearing a straight jacket. How had she endured it all those years? She knew why she endured it now. The people who flowed in and out of her hospital room were more comfo
