But I had never been trying to destroy Adele.
I had been trying to make sure Mia never again learned that protecting a family’s comfort was more important than protecting herself.
For years, I thought keeping the peace meant swallowing what hurt.
Adele counted on that version of me.
So did everyone else.
They were wrong.
Peace that requires a thirteen-year-old girl to hide a handprint is not peace.
It is silence.
And once I understood the difference, there was nothing Adele—or anyone else in my family—could say that would make me confuse the two again.
