On my twenty-first birthday, my grandmother handed me the deed to her Malibu mansion and said it was mine, legally and completely. Six hours later, my mother showed up with my father behind her and my spoiled younger sister dragging designer suitcases across my marble floor, announcing that Aubrey would be moving in because “the family” needed the house more than I did
The first time my mother tried to throw me out of my own house, I was still holding the birthday card from the grandmother who had just given it to me. I remember the sound before I remember the words. The pounding came first—three violent strikes against the carved walnut front door, sharp enough…
