I ran to her, hugging her tight. She smelled like old lavender and stale smoke. Her hair hadn’t been washed.
Her lips were cracked. And Kinsey? She stood in the corner, arms folded, mascara smeared.
“You have no right,” I snapped, standing between her and Mom. Kinsey shrugged. “She wanted to leave.
She was miserable in that place. I just helped.”
“You forged my name. You spoofed my phone number.
That’s illegal.”
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