At a family dinner, my sister introduced her boyfriend—and for some reason, he couldn’t stop staring at me. He asked what I did for a living. I answered. That’s when my mother slam;med a wrench into my face for “talking back.” They burst out laughing. “At least you’re pretty now,” my sister sneered. “One hit wasn’t enough,” she added. Mom tossed her the wrench. “Your turn.” I tried to block them. My father grabbed my arm. Everything went black. They kept smiling beside her boyfriend—like I was the punchline. Then their smiles drained of color…

The dining room in my parents’ massive suburban home was a suffocatingly perfect stage. It was a room designed exclusively for the performance of a life they did not actually lead. The long mahogany table was polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the warm, golden light of the dripping crystal chandelier above. Expensive silver cutlery flanked fine bone china, and the air smelled faintly of roasted lamb and my mother’s cloying, designer perfume.