I faked a stomach ache to skip school. By 11:18 a.m., I was hiding behind my bedroom door, watching my own aunt plant a stolen diamond bracelet inside my mother’s office bag. She whispered, “Today, her saint act will end.” By evening, a police van stopped outside our building. And my mother was still walking home with no idea her sister had sold her to prison.
Because I had hidden it inside the one place Aunt Pearl never thought a thirteen-year-old girl would dare touch. Her own church bag. The red velvet tote she carried every Sunday morning. The same bag she had left hanging behind our kitchen door two nights ago when she came over “just to check on us.”…
