Her Scarred Love Killed Me

Summary

My mother’s arms are mapped with dozens of scars. Three of them, deep enough to expose the bone, are the defining landmarks of my childhood.

The first happened when I was seven. I was growing faster than my younger sister, Amber. My mother looked at me, her eyes dark with accusation, and told me I was selfish.

"You don't care that she's younger," she sobbed. "You only care about yourself." Then, she drew a silver pocketknife across her wrist, right over her artery.

The second came during my high school placement exams.