usetts, a quaint coastal town with a dark underbelly, Gail learned early on that some people mattered and some people didn't. As the child of a heroin addict, whose only ally was an aunt who brokered deals with men who liked to have sex with young girls, Gail was sure she didn't matter. Having often heard the phrase "you don't rat" while growing up, Gail never told. Instead, she developed an addiction of her own, and constantly worried people would find out the truth that she'd always believed about herself; she was worthless.

After moving away from Gloucester in her early twenties, Gail became an attorney who continued to carry her secret shame. While representing people accused of crimes-people with the same struggles she'd known-Gail finally came to learn that everybody has value. The revelation gave her the courage to put down the drugs, fully embrace her history, and stop hiding.