Chapter 11 · free to read
He booked the whole restaurant. Not a private room — the whole restaurant, on a Saturday, so that nobody could later say who had been there.
I had eaten at a place like that exactly never. He knew that. Half of the offer was the tablecloth.
Legitimise yourself as his discovered relative. Say the word cousin in front of a camera. In exchange: a name, a passport, an apartment, a degree, and a number with more zeroes than my mother's shop had ever turned over.
My mother tore up money for me. My birth mother went looking and died within a year. And here was a man offering me everything, on condition that I sign my own erasure a second time, voluntarily, and call it a gift.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.