At 2 A.M., My Father Texted: “Grab Your Sister And Run — Don’t Trust Your Mother.” So I Did.

Becca keeps her bedroom window locked. She checks it before bed every night, a ritual she performs with the careful attention of someone who learned at twelve that open windows mean escape routes and escape routes mean your life has a shape you didn’t choose.

I’m in college now—pre-law, because watching the legal system process my mother’s crimes taught continue reading …