My Misogynistic Mother
The books I had cherished, once neatly organized, and the clothes I had carefully folded and placed in the corner, were now being sold off as if they were garbage.
"What are you doing here?" Mom asked, her voice pulling me back to the present.
I looked wistfully at the books tossed carelessly into burlap sacks. Then, with a heavy tone, I asked, "Where is Marianne?"
"She's dead."