My mother threw scalding soup in my face for saying no to her stepdaughter. “Give her all your things — or get out!”

asked, “Miss Whitaker, do you currently have a valid driver’s license?”

Violet hesitated too long.

She didn’t.

It had been suspended two months earlier for reckless driving.

Marcus smiled faintly without warmth. “We’ll add that as well.”

My mother started crying then.

Not from guilt.

From fear.

“Nora, please,” she whispered. “Where are we supposed to go?”

I continue reading …