I didn’t move for several minutes after Casey read the date on the back of the photo because my mind refused to accept what my eyes had already seen.
The little girl staring back at me couldn’t have been more than six years old and although the frightened expression felt strangely familiar. The date written beneath the faded ink shattered everything I thought I knew about my childhood.
It had been taken two years before I was supposedly admitted into the Asset Program. That wasn’t possible.
At least it should have been. But I carefully had the photo by its edges while Casey slipped a protective sleeve over it and I found myself studying every tiny detail as though the answers might suddenly appear if I looked hard enough.
My hair had been cut unevenly, my oversized sweater hung fro
