Officer Sarah Chen had pulled me over for a broken taillight on Highway 49, but when she walked up and I saw her face, I couldn’t breathe. She had my mother’s eyes, my nose, and the same birthmark below her left ear shaped like a crescent moon. The birthmark I used to kiss goodnight when she was two years old, before her mother took her and vanished. “License and registration,” she said, professional and cold. My hands shook as I handed them over. Robert “Ghost” McAllister. Continues… She didn’t recognize the name—Amy had probably changed it. But I recognized everything...
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