When I was 16, our house caught on fire at night.

My aunt didn’t understand. “You’re wasting money. You should be sending that money to ME. I lost my sister,” she said.
Still, I kept baking. It gave me purpose.
Two weeks after my 18th birthday, a brown box showed up at the front desk with my name written in neat cursive. No return address.
Inside was A PECAN PIE.
Perfectly golden, beautiful braided crust, lightly dusted with powdered sugar. The smell was enough to make me dizzy.
I was surprised. I had no idea who sent it.
But as I cut it, I nearly blacked out when I saw what was HIDDEN insideMy dad pushed me out onto the lawn in my bare feet. I turned around just in time to see him run back inside.

He was going for my mom.