I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection as those words ran through my head over and over again. Somehow, I thought I’d gotten away from this moment. I had said my goodbyes years ago, prepared then and there at the funeral to deal with the wrath of Miranda—but it never came. Miranda had a breakdown and never went. Instead, she was shipped off to relative's house in Maine. By the time she came back, I was already long gone. Although I knew I deserved what was coming to me, I couldn’t deny the utter relief I experienced when I knew that she was sent away. It was like a stay of execution. But I should have known better than to think it would last forever. I had washed my hair the night before—I’d taken a long shower that night, actually—and let it dry as I slept so that I could straighten it before class this morning. Now it hung in long unruly curls that cascaded down way past my shoulders, the dark coloring more dynamic as different pieces caught the light. Your hair’s so wild, Ri.
