“Ms. Fletcher and I got off to a rough start, I’ll admit that—but we became friends.”
“Are you sure? Maybeyouwere her friend… but wasshereally yours?”
“You sound jaded.”
“I’ve just seen how petty some women can be. Some hold grudges. Some are vengeful—for no reason at all.”
***
The group home looks exactly like I remember.
The same worn porch steps. The same chime when the door opens. Like no time has passed at all, even though it’s been six years since I walked out of this place.
A tall woman with a sleek blonde bun and familiar blue eyes appears at the door. She looks at me with a polite smile.
“Hi, can I help you?”
I study her for a moment. Her face is a little older, but it’s definitely her.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m looking for Meghan Fletcher.”
She tilts her head slightly. “That’s me.”
I nod once. “You knew me as Dani Hartman.”
She freezes, smile faltering. Her eyes flicker with something—shock, discomfort, maybe even guilt.
“Dani,” she breathes. “I—wow. Look at you.”
I don’t smile. I don’t offer a hug. I don’t say it’s good to see her.
“Can we talk in your office?”
“Of course,” she says quickly, stepping aside. “Come in.”
I follow her down the familiar hallway, the one where I used to wait for my turn with my counselor, the one where I waited for news about Izzy that never came.
She opens the door to her office, gestures to the chair across from her desk, then shuts the door behind us.
“This is... a surprise,” she says, settling into her chair. “You look well.”
I ignore the pleasantry. “I’m here for my records.”
She blinks. “Your records?”
“Yes. Everything from my time here.”
Meghan folds her hands neatly on the desk. "Those records are confidential. Especially anything involving another minor. I’m sure youunderstand—”
“I’m not asking for anyone else’s file. Just mine.”
“They’re sealed,” she says carefully. “It’s the law. Especially since your sister’s adoption was closed.”
“I know it was closed,” I snap. “But I still deserve to know what was said about me. What decisions were made, and who made them.”
She lets out a long breath. “Dani, you had a very difficult time here. You were grieving, angry. There were outbursts—”
“Do not rewrite my history,” I say sharply. “I want to know exactly what was in my file. What was told to my sister's adoptive family. Whatyoutold them.”
