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Which is actually crazy young, when I think about it now.”

Charlotte started pouring sauce on her creation. “When I was eleven, I went to a foster home where the parents ,” the word caused her lip to twitch as if it tasted sour on her tongue, “decided that the state’s stipend was exclusively for them, and I was not entitled to an allowance. They called me greedy and lazy. Meanwhile, they were the ones warehousing as many kids as they could stu in their house just to collect the government’s money while watching gameshows all day, but I digress.

“Anyway, I decided to get a job. Shockingly not an easy thing to do when you’re that age. But I found a little Cuban Pizzeria in Little Havana. The old lady who ran it either believed I was old enough or felt bad for me. She paid me in cash under the table like the other undocumented workers on her sta . One day, I was the only one who showed up for work and Bertica showed me how to make pizza.”

When Charlotte finished putting the sliced vegetable toppings on the expertly shaped dough, she popped it into the oven.

As Alex watched, she leaned against the kitchen counter and struggled not to get emotional. It was one thing to read her background information on a piece of paper, to skim over the fact that she’d been orphaned so young and lived her childhood in the system, but quite another to imagine this woman as a little girl. Something fierce burned inside Alex. It burned so hot it made her want to ask for the foster parents’ names. Find out if they were still taking in children,

and then pay them a visit. At the very least, she’d make a call and ensure no child was ever made to feel like that again.

“I guess I’ve never told you about my mom,” Charlotte said quietly, drying her hands with a kitchen towel before turning o the sink.

The simmering anger fled Alex’s body immediately. She’d forgotten to react as if she was learning about her background for the first time. Shit . “You don’t have to—”

“You get so used to telling your sob story to school therapists, social workers, guardian ad litems , foster parents, group home sta . . .” She smiled sadly. “I could go on. One of the best parts of aging out of the system was not having to go through the whole pathetic tale again and again.”

Before Alex could tell her she really didn’t have to share anything painful with her, Charlotte continued. Alex moved close to her but resisted the urge to put her arms around her as she spoke. She wanted to comfort her but couldn’t tell whether it was too much intimacy for Charlotte. And if she was honest, she wasn’t sure that it wasn’t too much for her.

“My mom died when I was seven.” Charlotte looked down as she picked at her recently polished nails. “Pancreatic cancer,” she added after a beat, her voice breaking. “It was so quick. One minute she was fine, and then. . .”

Alex slipped her hand in hers, not just to keep her from leaving her fingernails bloody stumps, but to comfort her. If her heart was breaking just from watching her, she couldn’t imagine how Charlotte felt.

Charlotte cleared her throat and looked up at her again. It took every ounce of Alex’s self-control to keep from enveloping her in her arms and telling her she was okay.

Instead, she squeezed her hand and tried not to cry when Charlotte’s eyes became red and glossy.

“Did you have other family?” Alex posed the question she thought she might ask if this were her first time learning of Charlotte’s past.

She shook her head softly, but it was a hard punch to Alex’s gut. How scared she must have been, a child that small.

“When she was sick, my mom made her best friend, Ilona, my legal guardian. I don’t know if she thought that would be enough or what.” Charlotte clenched her jaw before continuing.

“The state didn’t let her—”

“The state decided that because Ilona had two minimum wage jobs and three kids of her own, she wouldn’t be a suitable parent for me.” Charlotte’s eyes burned with rage.

This wasn’t an old wound still inside her; it was a live wire.

“So even though she wanted me and even though my actual mother thought she was perfectly able to care for me,” she took a deep breath and calmed herself, “they took me away.”

Alex cupped her face. “God, I’m so sorry.” The paltry words could not convey the depths of Alex’s sympathies. If she could unravel her past and set it right, she would drain every penny from her accounts.

“When I was a teenager, I used to wonder what my life would have been like if one of those two things wouldn’t have happened. If my mom hadn’t died or Ms. Ilona had been allowed to keep me.”

“A sliding doors moment.”

Charlotte nodded but stayed quiet as she looked down at the fingernails she’d systematically destroyed. After a cleansing breath, she continued. “But I stopped doing that a long time ago. What’s the point, you know?”

“Probably only good for driving yourself crazy,” Alex mused. “How long did you stay with them? I thought kids weren’t supposed to languish in foster care.”

Charlotte’s reply was a bitter, humorless laugh. “Oh, they tried to get me adopted. A little blonde girl without any health issues or parents with known substance abuse problems? I was probably a unicorn.” Her lip curled before educating Alex on the gross disparities in the child welfare system.

Alex listened as she told her about the first foster family she was placed with, a seemingly nice couple who wanted to adopt her immediately.

“What happened with them?” Alex asked.