I worry about you, Sister. I worry about my niece. She and Jonah are the same age. Momma always said you were the good one and I was not. You must hate me now but I’m so grateful that you never listened to her and you always protected me. You told everyone that you and I had been out together that night, so whoever it was that strangled her with that cord from the iron had to have been a stranger or someone else. I’m glad nobody else saw the scars. Saw the indentations where she would bury the corner of that hot iron into our backs and ribs and arms and legs. She had to be stopped. Just like
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