The name written underneath was Irene Sterling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Aunt Irene.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She wasn\u2019t my blood aunt. That\u2019s what they told me. She was \u201can old family friend,\u201d a woman with black hair, a soft voice, and slender hands who came to eat at my house almost every Sunday with a bag of pastries from the local bakery.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Irene brought me cupcakes, bought me ribbons, gave me my first book of poetry, and cried silently the day I graduated from middle school.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I always thought she was a lonely woman, the kind who attaches herself to other people\u2019s families because life didn\u2019t give her one of her own.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My dad\u2019s letter said otherwise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIrene didn\u2019t die. She didn\u2019t abandon you because she didn\u2019t love you. She left you with me because she was afraid she couldn\u2019t save you from her own family. Victoria knows. She was the one who helped us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I read that line once.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then I felt the attic crashing down on me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I walked down the stairs with the box clutched to my chest. My legs were trembling so much I had to sit on the bottom step. Downstairs smelled of noodle soup and freshly washed laundry. It was the smell of home. Of my home. Of the home Victoria had held together for years with firm hands, birthday parties, scoldings, and Band-Aids.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And suddenly it all smelled like a lie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When Victoria returned, she was carrying grocery bags, her hair damp from the drizzle. Outside, Chicago was gray, with that heavy sky that announces a storm over the lake and leaves the hydrangeas looking as if they\u2019d been varnished.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She saw me in the living room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She saw the box.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A bag dropped from her hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Apples rolled across the floor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dValerie,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn\u2019t say Mom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For the first time in fifteen years, I couldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I just held up the letter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dWho is Irene?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victoria closed her eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That gesture was her confession.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Richard walked in behind her with Dylan and Matthew. The boys went quiet when they saw us. Victoria asked them to go upstairs to their room. Richard picked up the apples slowly, as if the world hadn\u2019t just split open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dVicky,\u201d he said, \u201cwhat\u2019s going on?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She didn\u2019t answer him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She looked at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dWhere did you find that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dIn the attic. In a box with my name on it. In my dad\u2019s handwriting. The truth that you guys decided to bury from me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her face broke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dIt wasn\u2019t like that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I laughed. An ugly, unfamiliar laugh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dNo? My mom didn\u2019t die when I was born and no one told me? The woman who came on Sundays to watch me grow up was my mother and you let me call her Aunt?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victoria sat on the couch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She didn\u2019t look like the woman who defended me against unfair teachers, nor the one who braided my hair before school plays. She looked suddenly old.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dIrene gave birth to you,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The sentence dropped like a stone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Even though I had already read it, hearing it from her mouth disarmed me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dAnd what are you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victoria took a shaky breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dThe woman who raised you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dI already know that. I\u2019m asking you what you were in this lie.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Richard stood by the table, his mouth in a tight line. He didn\u2019t know either. I saw it in his eyes. My secret life had just exploded in front of him, too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victoria covered her face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dYour dad and I wanted to tell you when you were older.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dI\u2019m twenty.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dI know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dSo? When? When Irene actually died?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The word hit her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dDon\u2019t speak like that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dWhy? Because now it hurts?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stood up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The box fell to the floor and the little silver cross rolled until it hit the leg of the table. That small sound made me cry out of pure rage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dMy whole life I prayed for a dead mother,\u201d I said. \u201cAt church on Sundays, remember? You\u2019d take me when I was a little girl and tell me to pray for my mom\u2019s soul.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victoria shook her head, crying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dI told you to pray for your mother. I never said dead.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That disgusted me even more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not because it was false.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Because it was exact.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They had built a lie out of half-truths, the way bad houses are built: from afar they look sturdy, until it rains.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dI want to see her,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victoria stood up quickly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That word confirmed she still wanted to decide for me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dDon\u2019t ever tell me no about my own life again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dValerie, please. You don\u2019t know everything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dThat\u2019s exactly why I\u2019m going to ask her!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I grabbed my purse and walked out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victoria followed me to the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dIf you go to her angry, you\u2019re going to destroy her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stopped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dHow curious. No one thought about whether they were destroying me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I drove straight to her neighborhood in Lincoln Park.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was Sunday afternoon, and even though it had rained, people were still out walking under the trees, artists arranging paintings of landscapes, city skylines, and women with sad eyes. I had walked there many times with Irene. She always stopped in front of paintings of motherhood, the ones where a woman holds a baby wrapped in a blanket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I thought she liked them out of nostalgia.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Now I understood she was looking at herself from the outside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Irene lived in a small apartment near Fullerton Avenue. I knocked three times. She didn\u2019t open. I knocked harder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The door opened just a crack.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She saw me and smiled with that usual tenderness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then she saw the letter in my hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her smile died.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dValerie\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That name in her mouth broke me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dMom?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Irene brought both hands to her chest, as if the word had physically struck her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For twenty years, perhaps she dreamed of hearing it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For twenty years, I unknowingly denied it to her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She stepped aside to let me in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her apartment smelled of coffee, incense, and old books. On a shelf, there were photos of me. Lots of them. Me as a little girl in my school uniform. Me at my elementary school play. Me in my high school graduation gown. Me at the beach with Victoria and my brothers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Photos I hadn\u2019t given her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dWho gave you these?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dYour dad first. Then Victoria.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It hurt to hear that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Because it meant Victoria didn\u2019t erase her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She fed her with crumbs of me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dExplain it to me,\u201d I said. \u201cWithout protecting anyone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Irene sat across from me. Her hands were shaking. The afternoon light cast lines on her face that I had never seen before. Maybe because I had never looked at her searching for resemblances.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She had my eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Or I had hers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dI was twenty-two when you were born,\u201d she began. \u201cYour dad and I weren\u2019t married. We loved each other, but my family didn\u2019t accept it. They said Julian wasn\u2019t on our level, that an accountant with no connections couldn\u2019t enter the Sterling family.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dAnd my birth?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Irene swallowed hard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dMy pregnancy was a war. My father wanted to send me away until you were born. My mother wanted me to give you up for adoption to a cousin who couldn\u2019t have children. I ran away with Julian.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I sat frozen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dThen why didn\u2019t you stay?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her eyes filled with tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dBecause after the delivery, I got sick. Not just sadness. Not just exhaustion. I lost myself, Valerie. I was afraid to hold you. I was afraid to go to sleep. My family used that to try and take you away. They said I was a danger, that Julian had stolen you, that they were going to bring in lawyers. Your dad couldn\u2019t fight them alone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dAnd Victoria?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Irene closed her eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dVictoria was my friend. My best friend. She worked with a lawyer downtown. She helped Julian protect you legally while I recovered. Later\u2026 later my father threatened to ruin Julian if I stayed close.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Anger rose in my throat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dAnd everyone obeyed?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dIt wasn\u2019t obedience. It was fear.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dFear that cost me a mother.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Irene nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She didn\u2019t defend herself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That disarmed me more than any excuse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dAt first I was going to come back,\u201d she said. \u201cYour dad knew it. We had started the paperwork. I was getting better. Victoria knew it, too. She never wanted to take my place.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dBut she did.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dBecause Julian died.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The room went still.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Outside, a vendor passed by selling hot tamales, and the sound seemed to come from another life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dAfter the accident,\u201d Irene continued, \u201cyour paternal grandmother wanted to take you. My family reappeared. They wanted to fight for custody, not out of love, but out of control. Victoria was the only one who already had an adoption in process. Julian left papers behind. He left the letter. He made it clear that, if he were gone, you should stay with her until everything calmed down.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dUntil everything calmed down? It\u2019s been fourteen years.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Irene cried silently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dMy father died when you were twelve. By then you were already calling Victoria \u2018Mom\u2019. You had brothers. A life. I was a coward. I thought telling you the truth would tear you away from a family that was actually taking care of you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dYou came over every Sunday.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dIt was the only thing I could bear.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dAnd Victoria allowed it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dYes. Even though it hurt her. Even though she knew you\u2019d hate her for it someday.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That sentence pinched my heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn\u2019t want to feel compassion for Victoria.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not yet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dDid my dad know you were alive when he told me that my mom loved me so much she gave me her whole life?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Irene covered her mouth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dYes. And it was true. I did give you my life. I just didn\u2019t give you my presence.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stood up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I needed air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I walked aimlessly through Lincoln Park the next day, because I couldn\u2019t go home or stay with Irene. I wandered along the damp paths, beneath the tall trees, smelling the wet earth. I reached the pond and sat facing the water. When I was little, Victoria used to take me there to feed the ducks, even though the signs now asked you not to. She would buy me a popsicle from a cart and wipe my mouth with napkins she always kept in her purse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Was that a lie, too?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
No.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That was the unbearable part.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her love had been real inside a lie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That night I went back home. Victoria was awake in the kitchen, holding a cold cup of coffee. Richard wasn\u2019t there. He probably gave her space, like he always did with important things.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I put the letter on the table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dI saw her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victoria nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She didn\u2019t ask how Irene was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Maybe she didn\u2019t dare.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dWhy didn\u2019t you tell me when I turned eighteen?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dBecause I was afraid.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dOf what? Of losing me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her eyes filled with tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The honesty arrived late, but it arrived clean.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dYou are my daughter, Valerie. Not by blood. Not from my womb. But I cared for you with everything I had. And every birthday I thought: \u2018Today I\u2019ll tell her.\u2019 Then I\u2019d see you blow out the candles, run around with your brothers, hug me\u2026 and I\u2019d become a coward again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I sat across from her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dYou let me love a dead woman.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victoria cried.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dI know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dYou let me call my mother \u2018Aunt\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dI know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dYou stole the truth from me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This time it took her a moment to answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was no excuse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was no \u201cI did it for your own good.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Just that broken \u201cyes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And for the first time, I could see her entirely. Not as a saint. Not as a villain. As a woman who saved a little girl and then didn\u2019t know how to give her back her history.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dI can\u2019t call you Mom right now,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her face tightened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But she nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dI understand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dI don\u2019t know for how long.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dI understand that, too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stood up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She didn\u2019t try to hug me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That was her first act of respect in this new life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The following weeks were strange.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The house seemed the same: Dylan leaving his sneakers in the living room, Matthew asking for cereal at night, Richard fixing a leak in the sink. But I walked around like a guest among memories I no longer knew how to categorize.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Irene started writing to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not long messages. Just one every morning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m going to the farmer\u2019s market today.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt rained today and I remembered when you were born.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI don\u2019t expect an answer today, I just wanted you to know I\u2019m here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I answered her sparingly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sometimes not at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victoria didn\u2019t ask.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
One afternoon in October, the local parade filled the city with people. The streets were full of dancers, families, food vendors, ladies with umbrellas, and children asleep in arms. I went alone. Not out of faith. Out of necessity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In the crowd, I saw Irene.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She was holding a candle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Further ahead, I saw Victoria.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Also holding one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Neither knew the other was there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stood on the sidewalk watching them, amid the smoke and the sound of drums. Two women praying for the same daughter. One who gave me life and couldn\u2019t stay. Another who stayed and didn\u2019t know how to tell the truth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For the first time, I didn\u2019t know who to blame.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Or maybe I knew that blaming wasn\u2019t going to give me anything back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That night, I asked them both to come over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Both of them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victoria made coffee. Irene arrived with sweet corn bread. Richard took my brothers out to the movies. We sat at the table where I had done my homework, cried over exams, celebrated scholarships, and blown out candles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I placed my dad\u2019s letter in the middle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dToday I want to read the whole thing,\u201d I said. \u201cWith you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Neither of them spoke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I read it out loud.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My dad explained what he could. Not everything. The dead also fall short. He asked that they not take me away from Victoria if Irene wasn\u2019t ready. He asked that Irene not be banished from my life. He asked, above all, that when I eventually asked, they wouldn\u2019t answer me with lies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When I finished, the kitchen was full of weeping.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dYou both failed on that last part,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Irene lowered her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victoria did, too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dI can\u2019t fix twenty years today. Neither can you. But I can decide something.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They looked at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dI\u2019m not going to choose one mother to punish the other.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victoria let out a sob.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Irene brought her hand to her chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dBut that doesn\u2019t mean everything stays the same,\u201d I added. \u201cI want therapy. I want documents. I want photos. I want to know who my maternal family was, even if I end up disliking them. I want to go to my dad\u2019s grave and yell at him too, because he started this story with love, yes, but also with secrets.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victoria cried harder when I said \u201cdad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dAnd I want time,\u201d I finished. \u201cA lot of it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Irene nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dI will give you all the time you want.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victoria looked at me with red eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dMe too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The first time the three of us went to Graceland Cemetery, it was a crisp morning. I brought white flowers. Victoria brought a cloth to wipe down the headstone, like she always did. Irene brought the small silver cross my dad had kept in the box.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Standing in front of the grave, I didn\u2019t know what to say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In the end, I just said:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dDad, you made a mess.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victoria let out a tearful laugh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Irene did too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And that laugh, as small as it was, saved us from breaking right then and there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was no full forgiveness that day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nor the next.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Forgiveness didn\u2019t arrive as a miracle. It arrived clumsily. It arrived in uncomfortable conversations, in photos spread out on the table, in long silences. It arrived when Irene taught me a song my dad used to sing to her. It arrived when Victoria confessed that every Mother\u2019s Day, she feared I felt a nameless void. It arrived when I understood that my childhood hadn\u2019t been fake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It had been incomplete.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Months later, I went back up to the attic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It no longer smelled like a threat. It smelled of dust, wood, and memory. I brought down my dad\u2019s box and put it in my room. Next to it, I placed two photos: one of Victoria carrying me on my first day of elementary school, and another of Irene holding me as a newborn, with swollen eyes and a broken smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn\u2019t choose one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I put them together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sometimes it still hurts to call them by different names. I went back to calling Victoria \u201cMom,\u201d but not every day. I started calling Irene by her name, then \u201cMa,\u201d a timid syllable that made us both cry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My life didn\u2019t wrap up perfectly like in the movies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But one afternoon in Lincoln Park, the three of us walked around while painters hung their canvases in the sun. Irene bought me a pastry. Victoria wiped a drop of caramel off my finger out of habit. The two of them looked at each other, uncomfortable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014\u201dDon\u2019t fight over cleaning me up. I\u2019m already twenty.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And for the first time, they both laughed at the same time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Right there, I understood something.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The truth didn\u2019t give me back the childhood they hid from me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But it gave me something the lie never could: the chance to look at every woman in my life with my eyes wide open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victoria didn\u2019t stop being my mother for having lied to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Irene didn\u2019t stop being my mother for having been absent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And I didn\u2019t stop being a daughter for demanding the truth from them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I just stopped being the little girl everyone protected with silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That little girl stayed in the attic, with trembling hands and an open letter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I came down different.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Broken, yes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But whole for the first time.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The name written underneath was Irene Sterling. Aunt Irene. She wasn\u2019t my blood aunt. That\u2019s what they told me. She was \u201can old family friend,\u201d a woman… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4106","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4106","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4106"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4106\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4110,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4106\/revisions\/4110"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4106"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4106"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4106"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}