The night before my medical school interview, my sister poured bleach on my only blazer, and my parents told me to stop making a scene.

pale.

“You knew?”

“Dean Whitaker knew her.”

My mother looked away.

That told me enough.

“She wasn’t cold, was she?” I asked.

My mother’s jaw tightened. “She was never home.”

“She was working.”

“She chose that hospital over her family.”

I zipped the suitcase. “Or maybe you decided that because it was easier than admitting she wanted more than this house.”

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