shoes squeaking on the floor. “Ma’am, stop! She’s having a grand mal seizure! You need to let her go!”
“She’s faking it,” Mom insisted, still trying to haul me upright even as my body convulsed uncontrollably, even as blood ran down my face. “She does this constantly. She just wants people to feel sorry for her, to baby her. I’m her mother—I know when continue reading …
