As the daughter of an unloving and often cruel mother and an only child for the first nine years of my life, I had two major fantasies. The first involved a hospital mix-up on the day I was born and it included my “real” mother ringing the doorbell and coming to reclaim me. The second was of a wise, protective, loving older sister—think Jo in Little Women—who would be my best friend, tell me I wasn’t to blame for how our mother treated me, and would even run away with me if need be, just like Hansel and Gretel but with two girls.

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