“You lived with him? In an orphanage in Wyoming?”
“Yes. Meadow Brook, in Casper. He came when he was seven or eight—nobody was sure exactly. I was six. We were friends until I got adopted when I was twelve.” The words poured out of me now, desperate to be believed. “He didn’t talk much at first. He had nightmares. The staff said he’d been found by continue reading …
