My parents refused to care for my younger kids while I tended to my oldest with leukemia; I called my ex-husband, but he said: “You’re just a poor writer, deal with it”

the point.

And the point was reaching people.

Here is the part that matters for what happened next.

I did not change what had happened in the book.

I wrote the truth about the phone ringing at 8:14.

The garden club.

The wine bar.

And on page 204, anyone who bought the book could read the exact words my ex-husband’s wife had said while my daughter was dying.

You’re just a poor writer. Deal with it.

A national reviewer used the line in the headline.

It went everywhere.

Belle