The girl sat in a chair against the wall, hunched over with her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs. She was maybe fourteen or fifteen, with dark hair that fell past her shoulders in unruly waves. When she looked up at the sound of my voice, I felt the floor tilt beneath me. She had my eyes—that specific, rare shade of hazel-green that came from my mother’s side of the family. She had the same slightly crooked nose I’d earned playing baseball in high school. The same widow’s peak hairline. It was like looking at a ghost of a past I didn’t know I’d lived.