My parents treated me like a servant. One day before Christmas, my mother gave a cold laugh and said, “Your sister’s friends will be here for Christmas — only about twenty-five people.” She expected me to cook, clean, and bow my head to serve them.
Snowflakes drifted lazily through the air over the quiet suburb of Creswell Heights, landing on the ornate lampposts and frosted windows with gentle persistence. Inside the grand Whitfield house, ligh…