idden, listening. This wasn't a memory; it was a horrifying d
always tired," and "smelling like the diner." His mother, Helen, chimed in, la
words from my own twelv
, because her house didn' t smell like "fried onions." Tiffany' s smooth voice, drippin
tin' s fake "runaway" act, Kevin' s performative call to the pol
and escape with Justin to a new "perfect" life with Tiffany,
hing-my son, my home, my reputation. I truly died a broken woman,
an ice-cold resolve. They still believed I was simple, weak.