THE IMPOSTER
She almost slipped up. Gave herself away. On the one hand, she’d grown so used to this fabricated persona that it came naturally to her. But on the other hand, she’d been a mother for so long that it was easy to fall back into old habits. When my daughter was younger, she’d started to write. Holy shit! she’d thought, clapping her hand to her mouth. How did I almost write that? Delete, delete, delete.
She started again: When my niece was younger . . .