My family locked me in the basement to give birth. Days later, they returned to find a dark red liquid seeping from the door. As my mother screamed, a voice whispered behind her, “Looking for me?”

just carved a canyon through my chest.

By sunrise, the colonial estate devolved into a theater of frantic preparation. Open suitcases littered the Persian rugs. Hushed, conspiratorial conversations echoed through the hallways, abruptly terminating the second my footsteps approached. Mid-morning brought a specialized courier hauling a heavy wooden crate:continue reading …