mom has. Relax. We’ll be gone Sunday night. You won’t even know we were there.
That phrase—you won’t even know—was a family curse. It never meant I wouldn’t know. It meant I’d know when I found trash bags overflowing with takeout containers, when my bathroom smelled like someone else’s perfume, when Liam’s room—my six-year-old’s room—had fingerprints continue reading …
