Day of release
My daughter didn’t have to testify against me. She chose to.
It’s Rose Gold’s fault I went to prison, but she’s not the only one to blame. If we’re pointing fingers, mine are aimed at the prosecutor and his overactive imagination, the gullible jury and the bloodthirsty reporters. They all clamored for justice.
What they wanted was a story.
(Get out your popcorn because, boy, did they write one.)
Once upon a time, they said, a wicked mother gave birth to a daughter. The daughter appeared to be very sick and had all sorts of things wrong with her. She had a feeding tube, her hair fell out in clumps, and she was so weak she needed a wheelchair to get around. For eighteen years no doctor could figure out what was wrong with her.