Drowned to Save Her Sins

Summary

I was four years old the afternoon my eight-year-old sister drowned.

Afterward, my mother spiraled into a manic, consuming guilt because she hadn’t pulled her out of the river in time.

The following year, on the first anniversary of my sister’s death, my mother took me into the bathroom and shoved my head straight down into a tub filled with freezing water.

"Don’t fight it," she hissed, her fingers dug like talons into the back of my neck. "This is exactly how it felt when your sister went under."