When my mom passed away two years ago, my world shattered into a million pieces. She was my hero—my best friend, my cheerleader, and my rock. Cancer stole her from me when I was just fourteen, leaving me without any immediate family except my Aunt Cheryl. Cheryl swept in quickly, almost too quickly, offering to “graciously” take me in, but she had ulterior motives.
“You’re family, Jenna,” she said, her lips curled in a strained smile. “And family takes care of their own.”
At first, I thought I was lucky. Aunt Cheryl and her family had a big, beautiful house, and I thought I’d finally have some stability after all the chaos. But I was naive. I didn’t know the truth then—that my aunt didn’t take me in out of love.
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