I sat up and swivelled around to look at the boarded-up window. I picked up the article and brought it right up to my face. Beside the little girl’s right eye was a tiny black dot. My mole. In the background was a house. My house?

I couldn’t get my head round it. She had taken me from my real parents. She had locked me inside this cottage for the last ten years of my life and made me think I was allergic to the outside. Made me believe I was dying.

The pressure in my chest was suddenly unbearable, as if someone was standing on my heart, yet at the same time an immense sense of relief warmed me. I felt guilty for feeling that way, and part of me wanted to scream and smash my fists into the walls, but I didn’t. Instead, I stared hard at the picture of me – innocent, happy me. Polly. I liked that name. No. I loved that name. It felt … right.

I got under the covers and turned onto my side. My body began to shake uncontrollably and my breathing lost track of itself. Short, sharp, ragged breaths wheezed out of me, and I squeezed my eyes shut and counted down from one hundred. I wanted to call for Mother, but she was no longer my mother. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe. I was hot, too hot.

It will pass. It will pass. Just breathe.

I pushed off the covers and counted down from one hundred again and again and again.

Finally, breathing became easier. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. I tried not to think about all that I had discovered, but my brain reeled with it.

I was Polly Dalton. I was not allergic to the outside. If I walked out of the house right now, I would not die. I was not on the verge of dying. That was a lie meant to … I swallowed drily … control me. Everything was so wrong, and yet everything suddenly seemed so horribly right. So real.

Horror and grief tied me to the bed. My heart throbbed and my head banged. Staring at nothing, I curled into a ball, dug my nails into my palms and moaned as the agony of loss sank in and ripped me apart.

Chapter 16