The backyard smelled like buttercream frosting, damp grass, and the sharp, cloying scent of my sister Natalie’s expensive perfume. Pink streamers snapped against the patio railing in the June heat, and a speaker chirped birthday songs while the adults laughed over plastic cups of wine. To anyone passing by, it was a perfect suburban celebration, but my family had always been experts at decorating around cruelty, and I was about to find out exactly how deep the rot went… Continue reading…
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