I can’t possibly have a mother.

Yes, everybody has a mother, but all this time …

All this time …

Sheriff Gleason tries to get me to focus on him to steady myself. I can’t look at him. I can’t do anything.

“I understand that—”

“You can’t,” I spit out. I can’t even comprehend it. Maybe it’s easier for someone on the outside of my life to put everything back in order, but I can’t.

I won’t.

“You’re right, you’re right.” Sheriff Gleason holds his hands up in surrender. “But you should know how relieved and grateful she is. She’s been looking for you all these years, Ally. She never gave up hope that she’d find you.”

I lean forward and put my head in my hands.

All this time …

Dad has lied.

Your life is a lie.

YOU are a lie.

I start hitting my head, hoping I’ll wake up from this nightmare. That I can find something that feels real to hold on to. None of this is real.

But it is real.

Even though I don’t want it to be.

“Ally, please don’t.”

I feel Sheriff Gleason’s grasp on me as he tries to stop me from doing any damage to myself. I jerk my hands away from him and abruptly jump up from the chair. “I don’t understand. I don’t want to understand. Please make this all go away.”

Maybe if I stubbornly refuse to acknowledge this, it will disappear. The last agonizing and confusing hours will flutter away with it. I can go back.

Dad made this life for us because he did what was best. I don’t know this woman claiming to be my mother. I do know my dad. If he decided I shouldn’t be with her, there must be something wrong with her. Maybe she was abusive. Maybe she didn’t love me.

The thought that my mother is out there should give me comfort. I should be yearning to learn about her, but instead it absolutely terrifies me.

Her existence is the final blow to life as I knew it.

“Listen, I have her phone number.” Sheriff Gleason puts a small piece of paper on his desk. “Your mother is desperate to hear your voice. Maybe she can answer some questions for you. I’m sure you have many.”

“No!” I scream.

I beg my mind to stop processing all that’s happening. I can’t concentrate on whatever Sheriff Gleason is saying to me now. I can’t focus my eyes. I can barely breathe.

This is what it must feel like to lose your mind.