I was simply the child from her husband’s previous marriage.
By twelve, I spent most weekends with my mother’s older sister, Aunt Diane.
Diane era todo lo que mi padre no era.
Ella escuchó cuando hablé.
She helped with schoolwork.
Ella me enseñó a cocinar, alentó mis intereses y nunca me hizo sentir avergonzada por extrañar a mi madre.
Papá odiaba lo cerca que estábamos.
He accused Diane of making me soft.
Whenever I returned from visiting her, he found another reason to criticize me.
Then came that August afternoon.
I’d spent two wonderful weeks at Diane’s house.
Dad picked me up without saying much.
For forty minutes, we drove in silence.
Eventually, he turned onto a remote gravel road.
There were fields on either side and no houses in sight.
He stopped.
“Get out.”
I thought he was joking.
“Dad?”
“Take your bag and get out, Thomas.”
