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No one will love you more or hurt you more than a sister.
The curtains had parted, and our family was yet again in the middle of a play we hoped no one else could see.
Of course, I knew that telling yourself you are special, the exception, should be a red flag.
Was all forgiven, her golden-haired child returned on a crescent moon?
In the months and years after she died, I often saw the world through her eyes, as if I had inherited her mantle of judgment, her scoreboard in the sky. Those were the times I missed her most.
Mom had chosen the unexamined life and stuck with it to her dying day.
I wished I had been kinder to Dad after he left my mother. I had been too hard, and now it was too late.
On some level, I never stopped wishing for an idyll that had ceased to exist long ago: the four of us together. Four fortune cookies. Four fortunes.
The emotional current was overpowering, and for a moment all the joy and sadness in life pooled inside me and I longed for everyone I’d ever loved.
