Page 17 of Mirror Image

She turned her head slightly. “Who?”

“Our parents. The people who . . . made us.”

Her breath left her on a short, tired laugh. “You mean the people who threw us away.”

I blinked. “That’s not fair. You don’t know what their situation was—maybe they—”

She shook her head before I could speculate on any alternative scenarios.

“I know enough,” she said wearily. “I know that I struggled every day. I only had myself to count on. You had . . . more. Clearly.”

“I didn’t know you existed, Sam.” I reminded her gently. “None of us did. My parents didn’t—”

“Your parents,” she snapped, then took a deep breath before softening her tone. “Your parents raised you in a huge house with a pool and a stable. They showed up for you. They’d do anything, give anything to make you happy.”

“It’s not like some fairy tale,” I whispered.

“Sure looks like one from where I’m standing,” she muttered, turning to look out as the orange cones and flashing lights funneled us into a single lane. “I just . . .” she began again after a long moment, not bothering to look at me, “I can’t help but wonder what it must have been like to be you. To have that. Even for a minute.”

The road narrowed; so did the air as I gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“You should have had all of it. My life should have been your life.”

She shrugged, a sad smile tugging at her lips.

“It’s a shame, you know? I let myself get excited there for a second—this idea that I finally had someone in my life. I never dreamed I’d find family. But here you are.”

I glanced her way, perplexed.

“What’s a shame? You should be excited! I’m excited . . .”

“Nah,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “That’s not the way it works out for me. I should have known better.”

Something in her tone made me grip the wheel harder. “What? Sam, I am here for you. I’m your sister! You are never going to be alone again!”

For a second she looked as if she might believe me. But then it was gone, the hope in her eyes replaced with steely certainty.

“You don’t get it, Mary. Nothing good lasts. Not for people like me.”

“Sam—”

“It’s fine,” she said quickly. Too quickly. She shifted, reaching for her seat belt.

The movement made my pulse spike. “What are you doing?”

“I just need air.” She fumbled with the buckle. “I need . . . a minute.”

“Sam, wait—we’re still moving.”

“It’s barely anything. I’ll be okay.”

“Please,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “Just talk to me.”

She shook her head, eyes shiny but determined. “Not right now. Pull over.”

“No,” I said softly. “Not like this.”

“Mary.” Her voice wavered. “I need you to stop the car.”