ISABELLA
The first thing I did when I woke up was glare at the mirror. Not because of the dark circles under my eyes or the evidence of last night’s restless sleep. No, it was the faint brown strands peeking through my platinum hair.
I leaned in closer, fingers brushing against the roots. They were unmistakable, betraying the color I once had before I came to America. It was strange, the way memories could be tied to something as simple as hair color. For a moment, I was back there in a life I didn’t want to remember, surrounded by faces I’d long tried to forget.
I tore my gaze away, heart pounding a little faster. I couldn’t let it show. Not even a hint of that past could resurface. Not here. Not now. I squared my shoulders and nodded at my reflection. “Time to bleach you out of existe
