I woke to strangers touring my childhood home.
“Charming original hardwood floors,” a man announced outside my bedroom.
Someone was selling the house while I was still sleeping in it.
Dad had died just six weeks earlier. I’d moved home after college and stayed to care for him when he became ill.
My older sister, Alicia, handled the funeral while I struggled with grief. I trusted her completely.
Dad always said my sister would be there when everything fell apart.
I never imagined she might be the reason it did.
