The garden behind Uncle Henry’s mansion looked like something out of a movie. Fairy lights hung from the trees, soft yellow and warm against the darkening sky. The sound of the violin quartet drifted gently across the lawn. Everyone looked relaxed and elegant and perfectly at home in this world.

Everyone except me.

I stood alone at the edge of the garden, right in front of the stone fountain that centered the whole space. Water spilled in smooth arcs from carved marble lilies, the sound ...