That’s because he knows the truth. I was born Cecilia, got married too young, was the victim of an abusive husband who had murder/suicided my cousin Kellen Rae Adams and then himself when she had come to rescue me. Being dumb, young and scared (I know, excuses! But I’m trying to give you the whole picture), I took her identification and ran with it. I made every bad decision, had been as cowardly as it was possible for a person to be, but then…then I grew. I made the decision to truly be Kellen, to live for my cousin, to make myself worthy of my new name.

A six-year stint in the US Army had helped with that.

Except apparently after brain surgery, when I had flashbacks.

I know. I should be glad that I opened my eyes and once again saw my daughter and my husband, knew who they were, had their support and their love.

I am.

I am!

Any woman who caught a bullet with her head and was lucky enough to wake up afterward, and then, years later, successfully survive the surgery to remove said bullet, is glad for all the good things in life.

But while I was spending five hours a day with a physical therapist, my daughter was growing up without me, and my husband, Max, wouldn’t talk to me about anything that might worry me, and that means anything of substance. Honestly, everything was about me—I heard you took your first step today. Your manual dexterity is improving by leaps and bounds…on the left hand. Your hair is growing out and you don’t look like a cracked Chia Pet troll anymore!

Okay, that last one was me. No one said I looked like a Chia Pet troll, cracked or otherwise. But when they shave your head and slice through the skull, and the swelling extends over half your face, it’s not a pretty sight. Not that I’m vain, but…

Okay, I guess I am.

As I recovered, my hair grew in white, so I dyed the tips a brilliant green. My mother-in-law said I looked like a healthy lawn. Now I change the color seasonally, and not merely to irk Verona, although that is an added benefit. At Christmas, I dye my hair stained-glass-window red, in the autumn, pumpkin-spice orange, in February, purple because…why not? I had to re-dye the springtime daffodil yellow. I love daffodils, but the yellow turned my complexion sallow.

After a mere month in the hospital, two months in a rehab home, another two weeks in the hospital to fix a cracked hip (I got impatient and tried to get up on my own), a return to the rehab home, working, working, working, and finally discovering I had problems that would never be fixed and memory quirks that were downright scary…I got to go home, to Yearning Sands Resort.