Then Mom’s photograph vanished from the hallway.
Another photo was turned toward the wall.
Whenever I complained, Shirley smiled and called me overly sensitive.
One afternoon she told me, “You look exactly like your mother when you’re angry. That must be difficult for your father.”
Gradually, I began realizing she wasn’t simply removing Mom’s belongings.
She was trying to remove Mom from our house.
Then she started entering my bedroom.
I caught her once standing beside Mom’s prom dress with the garment bag partially open.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking for moths.”
“In my closet?”
She glanced toward the dress.
“Your mother wouldn’t want her work destroyed.”
“Don’t talk about my mother.”
Her smile changed.
“You really do think you’re some little replacement for her, don’t you?”
I ordered her out.
That night, I told Dad what had happened.
Instead of defending me, he said Shirley was trying to help.
