The rest of the details changed depending on who was listening to her. Sometimes she claimed my biological father had simply vanished into thin air, and other times she said he was a dangerous, unstable man who only loved the idea of a family until things got difficult. When I was a child, I believed every word she said because children have no choice but to trust the parent who stays.
His name was Harrison Fletcher, and I knew almost nothing about him other than the fact that I looked exactly like him. That resemblance seemed to be the original sin I carried with me into every room I entered. I had the same dark, deep-set eyes and the same stubborn, square chin.
My hair was a thick, unruly brown that refused to stay flat regardless of how much gel I used. My mother once told a neighbor at a backyard barbecue that living with me was like living with her ex-husband’s ghost every single day. She laughed as if she were telling a harmless joke, and Rick laughed along with her.