I drove Daddy’s truck home from the hospital, and my brother drove his own. I then picked him up, and we drove together to my house. In the dark, as I watched the windy road, he leaned strangely close to me and said, “Sis, I know you’ve been talking to A [my adult daughter] again since Mom died, but you can’t trust her. Just be careful. She’ll try to get close to you and then stab you in the back. I’m not trying to butt into your business. I’m just warning you, remember what she’s pulled in the past. I know she’s your daughter, but you can’t trust her.”

Six months prior to that night I’d run into my dad’s younger sister in the grocery store.  I hadn’t seen or talked to her in decades.  My children didn’t even know who she was, so I stood in the organic frozen…

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