Who still couldn’t look at me.
“Twenty-three years,” I said. “You let me grow up calling her Mom and you never – ” I stopped. The math was rearranging itself in my head, fast, every Mother’s Day card, every time someone said I had Rhonda’s nose. I don’t have Rhonda’s nose. I never had Rhonda’s nose. I have the nose of a woman in a hospital photo wearing continue reading …
