At 3 a.m., my stepmother and stepsisters stole my credit card and spent $100,000 on a luxury trip—returning home smug and unaware the card they used wasn’t what they thought it was.

older brother.

My uncle.

The man whose funeral I had attended when I was seventeen.

The man whose sealed coffin Vanessa had dabbed tears over while whispering to guests that he had always been troubled, always reckless, always impossible to save.

The man whose name had been forbidden in our house afterward.

I gripped the edge of the kitchen island.

“You’re continue reading …