"There's nothing special about me," Vanya repeated, the words obviously a litany that she had repeated to herself or that had been repeated to her. Or both. "Believe me, our father did extensive testing on us when we were younger. If there'd been something there to find, he would have found it."

It was true. It had to be true, because what was her life otherwise? A lie from beginning to end? That or a mistake.

She took the photo because it was offered to her without actually looking at it. A part of her was scared at what she'd see if she looked down. What would she prefer? To know that he was wrong? Or that he was right?