There are moments when you're so far beyond words that all you can do is laugh.
The man next door—old enough for me to call Dad.
All four of his previous wives had died of cancer, leaving behind three half-grown boys. Every woman in the neighborhood crossed the street to avoid him. But my mother couldn't wait to shove me into that fire.
Her obsession with one-upping Aunt Grace had reached the point where my life or death simply didn't factor in.
Something tore open in my chest, and cold wind poured through the gap.
As if she hadn't driven enough knives into my heart over the years.
When Aunt Grace enrolled Stella in art classes and horseback riding lessons, my mother immediately dumped every household chore on me. "What's the point of all that nonsense? Better you stay home and help me."
When Stella sneezed, Aunt Grace rushed her to the hospital for a full checkup. When my appendix nearly ruptured and I was writhing on the floor in agony, my mother stood over me and scolded, "Don't be like your cousin—running to the hospital over nothing."