The book could help me figure out this mess—if only I knew where to find it.
My mother had always kept it hidden in one of her drawers, a place that once felt sacred. Now, with Ann occupying the room, I wasn’t sure if it even existed anymore. I hadn’t seen the book in years. It was strange to think about it now, but the times my mother read from it were never for fun. Each word she shared felt like a lesson. She read it like a piece of history she believed I’d need one day.
And maybe she was right.
Where could it be? My mind raced through possibilities. If Ann hadn’t thrown it away in one of her obsessive ways to get rid of my mother’s things, then it had to still be here—somewhere.
I’d start with the drawers. My mother’s favorite spot. If they were locked, I could pick them; she’d tau
