The SUV doors closed before I could reach them.
For a brief second, one of the girls looked back through the tinted glass and pressed her hand against the window. Then the vehicle pulled away and disappeared into traffic.
I remained standing on the sidewalk long after it was gone. Because if Camila Montgomery was really their mother, then one question refused to leave my mind.
Why did three seven-year-old girls have a tattoo story connected to a night their mother and I shared exactly eight years ago? …
