it with more honesty than either of us had been practicing.
Sometimes that honesty is ugly.
Sometimes it is the only reason the house feels livable.
The cracked frame from the foyer sits in a drawer in my sewing room now.
I never threw it away.
Not as a trophy.
As a reminder.
Of my sister walking into my shop with my face bruised on hers.
Of the moment Madison said “guest” like ownership gave her the right to hurt people.
Of the split second before she recognized me.
And of the sound a lie makes when a camera finally catches it in the light.
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