They Believed Me After I Died

Summary

Two months after I gave birth, my adopted sister, Lily, moved into my house with a diagnosis of mild depression.

My mother, a respected clinical psychologist, packed Lily’s bags and drove her over herself.

"You just had a baby, Sienna. You need extra hands," she’d said, breezing through my front door. "It’s perfect. I’ll move in too, and I can take care of both you and Lily."

But over the next month, my mother’s days were consumed with tracking Lily’s mood fluctuations. If Lily couldn’t sleep, my mother sat up with her all night. If Lily cried, my mother held her.