The first thing my mother tried to take from me after I gave birth was twenty-seven thousand dollars.
The second was my daughter.
And if those hospital doors hadn’t burst open when they did, I still don’t know which one I would have lost first.
My husband, Grant, had been gone less than an hour when my mother entered my hospital room without knocking.
Diane Mercer brought no flowers.
That was how I knew something was wrong.
My mother always carried something when appearances mattered. Grocery-store roses for funerals. Satin-wrapped
