She sighs. “If you ever have kids, you’ll know that your first priority becomes their happiness. You want to do everything you can to keep them safe and happy. You want the world to be kind to them, and that’s not always something you can control.” She gives a little cough, but it’s not enough to disguise the waver in her voice. “When we found out you had vitiligo, I was so worried that your world might become a crueler place. I know how awful kids can be about stuff like this.”

I glance at Mom. Her eyes are glistening as she stares at me. “You do?”

“Of course I do,” she says. “When I was your age, I got bullied a lot at school.”

“You did?” I’m not sure I’ve ever really thought about Mom being my age, but if I had, I would definitely have imagined her as the most popular girl in school.

“I did. I wore hand-me-downs from my sisters because your grandma said there was no point in buying new clothes when we had perfectly good ones. She cut my hair herself, and she wasn’t very good at it. She didn’t know how to style it like the other girls did. And the worst part was, I had terrible acne, but I wasn’t allowed to wear makeup.”

Mom laughs a little and shakes her head. “As soon as I got to college, I found a part-time job and saved up all my money for new clothes. I bought magazines to teach myself to do my makeup.”

I cock my head, trying to imagine Mom as a dorky kid with a bowl haircut and pimples. But I can’t. It is literally impossible to see her as anything other than beautiful.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me this?”

“It’s not something that makes me happy to talk about,” Mom says. “And when I became a mother, I didn’t want you and Lily to go through what I did. I wanted to give you every advantage I could. I’ve always tried to protect you however I can. That’s what I thought I was doing these past few months.”

“So, you aren’t ashamed of me?” I ask. “Not even a tiny bit?”

“Not even a microscopic bit ashamed,” Mom says. “Just very, very worried. Especially since Ms. Singh called us that week you were ‘sick’ to say that you were going through a hard time at school.”

My heart skips a beat. “She did?”

Mom nods.

“What did she tell you?” I ask. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“She said that there were some rumors going around school about vitiligo and that she would address them with the students. And your dad said that if you didn’t tell me, it was probably because you didn’t want me to know. I wanted to say something, but I decided he was right.”