I just stare at her, all the anger and stress from the last week rolling up inside me into a tight little ball.

“Oh, he’s bad for me?” I demand. I can’t seem to control the volume of my voice anymore. “I can’t even believe you would say that, since you’re the one who took me from him. I mean, that’s basically kidnapping, isn’t it?”

“Star,” my mother says, her voice surprisingly calm. She looks me in the eye, and her voice sounds oddly gentle. “I didn’t leave him. He left us.”

I stare at her.

“That’s not what the Dial reporter said,” I say coldly.

“I know. Mariska told me,” Mom says, her voice firm. “But the reporter was wrong. Star, look at this.”

She hands me a faded sheet of paper on letterhead from a law firm called Kovac, Jaye and Tan. I stare at her for a moment, then begin to read it reluctantly, feeling tears blur my vision.

It’s a letter, dated thirteen years ago, apparently drafted and signed by my father, saying that he revokes all custodial rights to his child, Amanda Star Beckendale-Mecham, age three. I read the letter twice, willing myself not to cry. I look back at Mom.

“This isn’t real,” I whisper. “You’re lying again.”

“No, Star, I’m not,” she says sadly. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way. But honey, he walked away from us. He walked away from you. And yes, he’s been writing to you every month, and maybe I’ve been wrong to keep his letters from you. But don’t you understand? You hit it big six years ago, and that’s when he started writing. He doesn’t want to know you. He wants to use you. I’ve been trying to protect you from him.”

“That’s not true,” I say, unable to stop my voice from shaking. My head suddenly hurts, and my eyes are burning. My stomach is swimming uncomfortably. “He started writing to me because he loves me. He wants to have a relationship with me. You just can’t stand the thought of anyone other than you having any control over me.”

Mom looks at me with an expression on her face that I know I’m supposed to interpret as sad. But honestly, I can’t tell anymore what’s a lie and what’s not. And how am I supposed to trust her after everything she’s done?

“Honey, he wants your money,” she says. “Not you. I’m so sorry.”

Something in me snaps.