3 - Eva.

Five years later…

“I swear that isn’t me,” I say, standing in front of my father, who is holding a photo of someone who looks remarkably like me kissing the high school janitor. “Someone must have photoshopped it.”

For a start, I don’t think I’ve ever even spoken to the high school janitor in my life. As I stare at the photo, the sight of him churns my stomach. Not that I’m vain, but he’s certainly not a man I’d be attracted to, weighing probably a hundred pounds more than he should and less hair on his head than I have on my legs.

Second, I’ve never kissed a boy in my life, let alone some random, balding, middle-aged man. It’s hard to believe they think that’s me.

“Eva Carmichael. You almost brought utter ruin on our family,” my mother chides, shaking her head in the corner. “Don’t think we’re stupid enough to believe that isn’t you.” She steps forward and glares at me with her hard, stony expression. “How long has it been going on?”

I stare at my mother, dumbfounded, wondering if sh