365 is a number that means more to some than to others.
For most, 365 is just a passing number, the number of days in a year, or maybe the highway exit you take to get to your grandma's house. But for me, the number 365 is my life.
I never met my mother or father. I have been told they were kind people. But I hate them. When I was one year old, on my birthday, March 6 (guess what year!), or 365 days old, my parents left me with my godmother Helena. No one has seen either of them since. I grew up with Helena, but my childhood was strange. I was never allowed to bring friends home, and Helena was always going to or hosting meetings. I tried to eavesdrop on the mysterious meetings, but to no avail. I had no idea what these secret meetings were for.
Then on my tenth birthday, Helena sat me down in her spotless living room and began to talk.
