“What are you babbling about? You think some sob story about Grandma’s funeral is going to change anything?”
I smiled. Genuinely smiled—for the first time in years at a family dinner.
“I’m not looking for your sympathy, Lauren. I’m explaining why I’ve spent the last three months documenting every single cruel thing you’ve done to me.”
My mother, Patricia, shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
“Jenna, what is this nonsense? You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“Am I?”
Continue reading…
