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?”

is a smoldering crater, and you’re back in your teenage bedroom.”

“That is quite enough,” my mother interjected, though her accompanying laugh was brittle and devoid of warmth. “We simply harbor concerns for your well-being, darling. That is all.”

I offered a hollow nod. I simply lacked the oxygen required to wage a war at that table.

As the plates were continue reading …