took four years of my life. You’re not buying the ones I have left.”
Monica smiled. It was a cold, small smile. I’d seen it before, when we were kids, right before she told our mother that I was the one who broke the lamp.
“You still think you can win,” she said.To explain how my sister and I ended up facing each other across a clothesline that day, I have to start six weeks earlier, at the front gate of the Ohio Reformatory for Women in Marysville.
My
