Be it also known that the severed is released from all duties and privileges over her children, Sarah and Massimo Colonia, and transfers her ownership of them now and forever to Peter Colonia, and secondarily, to the Free Society of the Colonia.

Be it also known that Mary Ballardo shall not contact, by any means, any member of the Free Society, including the Children as named above, nor shall she speak of the Free Society to any individual Outside, lest by the hand of the goode people, she forfeit the breath of her body and have her soul sent immediately to God.

“This is it!” Massimo shouts.

“Massi,” I whisper, hand shaking so hard the paper makes a crunching noise.

“Fuck you, Lucari! I got it!” He holds up a yellow carbon-copy sheet.

I can’t swallow. My eyes burn, but there are no tears. My palms are as dry as old bones. There’s not a drop of liquid in me. I am a desiccated husk.

She was hollowed. Cast out. Left to fend for herself with nothing.

I believed she was dead. I never went looking for her. I never asked the chicken, the cow, the abandoned car if they were my mother. I let her go. Never asked a question. Never tried to dig through the lies.

So many lies.

My brother is talking, pacing fast, heels and cane crunching the useless papers underfoot.

There’s something about the date on the corner of the certificate, but I can’t do math. My brain is black smoke, and my thoughts smell like burning rubber. There’s no substance to them, yet they bite with steely teeth.

Did Dario know? He said he met her, but she came back to us. Is this what happened to her?

He said she was alive, then that he wasn’t sure. Stories on top of stories. Lies inside misdirection.

“Hey.” Massimo’s in front of my chair, bending to meet my eyes. “What’s with you?”

My throat is too dry to answer, but I open my mouth to try anyway. Nothing comes out. Could be a failure of every organ between my throat and my lips. Could be because I don’t know any words.

He pries open my fingers until he can remove the certificate.

They hollowed her.

My own mother.

They scraped her clean then threw her away.

“Well, shit,” Massimo says, looking over my shoulder. “Huh, this is… weird.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah, the date, if you look…”

He shows me, and I’m confused.

There’s math I should have done when my mind was clear.

When I was ten, they told me she was dead. Daddy and Grandma and all the grownups. And there’s something about when Dario met Willa. Something about how old he was when they married so they could adopt Rosemarie. It started then.

What started then?

A secret place where the women go.

What if all secrets are just lies?