My Family Called My Illness Dirty
Language: en
The day my parents split up, my sister—with her sun-kissed hair and honeyed words—left with our mother. My brother, the bouncy, charismatic golden boy, was scooped up by our father. When it was finally my turn, they looked at me and spoke in perfect, chilling unison. "You need to be the sensible one, Myra." "You're practically an adult now. You can take care of yourself."