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My sister struck me across my battle-scarred face and ordered her husband to “take care of me.” But the enormous former Marine looked at my scar, staggered backward in horror, and whispered the name my family had spent ten years trying to bury.
“Don’t call me your sister. You and that child are the biggest stain this family has.” Then her hand came across my face. A full, open-palm slap, right on the…