lett

on was being prepared: my twentieth birthday party. It was supposed to be a grand cele

ll upon the mantelpiece, where my mother's favorite crystal music box sat. It was the last gift she had eve

weet smile on her face. "That's so pretty," sh

ust a little too clumsy, her grip a little too loose. The music

ped. The silen

the betrayal, the endless public humilia

rage. I pointed a trembling finger at the door. "Ge

d-held a flicker of triumph. "I'm sorry!" she wailed, backi

my mother. I collapsed to my knees, my body wracked with sobs of pure, unfiltered anguis