Actually, I just look at it as a blessing to tell you the truth,

Some truths are truths, no matter who says them.

Hey, S.T.," Sydney says finally.
I don't budge.
She nudges me with her elbow. "You want to know something?"
I still can't look up. But I nod.
"It's not your fault either." She says this like it's not big deal. Like it's nothing.
But it's everything.

That's a very, very difficult thing. The truth of the matter is most of these women desperately miss the children that they have, and it's hard for them.

Well, it's not easy to find something that you do not know exists.

I used to say to my bubbe, 'Bubbe, is this story true?' And she'd say, 'Of course it's true! But it may not have happened.' What my bubbe was saying is profound: All stories are true. The truth is the journey you take through it - did it make you laugh, cry, seek and want justice? Then it's true.