front, hair straightened, wearing a black dress too mature for her face.
“I need my mom,” she said. “She is my best friend. She made a mistake, but she loves me. Please don’t take her away.”
Her voice broke.
For a moment, my chest tightened.
Brooklyn was still a child. Spoiled, yes. Manipulated, yes. But a child. Vanessa had damaged her too, though not continue reading …
