Her Scarred Love Killed Me
Language: en
My mother’s arms are mapped with dozens of scars. Three of them, deep enough to expose the bone, are the defining landmarks of my childhood. The first happened when I was seven. I was growing faster than my younger sister, Amber. My mother looked at me, her eyes dark with accusation, and told me I was selfish. "You don't care that she's younger," she sobbed. "You only care about yourself." Then, she drew a silver pocketknife across her wrist, right over her artery. The second came during my high school placement exams. Because I scored in the ninety-ninth percentile and Amber barely…