Mom usually would kiss my sisters and me when she would come home from work. On the cheeks. The forehead. Quick ones. Mom-type kisses.“You never kne... she had my pussy cream or ass on her lips,” said Ms. Petrov. “That she when I called her in for 'emergencies,' I was tying her down and fucking her with big dildos.”“No idea, Ms. Petrov,” I said, squirming.She seemed pleased by that answer. Then she stared at my mother. “Open.”Mom opened her mouth wide, accepting the ring gag that was shoved past. Her first two weeks in Savannah had been more uplifting, but now she was sinking fast back into what she knew would become clinical depression if she didn’t do something about it. The letter was there on her work table. She’d read it a thousand times already. She reached out to take it up again, but then she jerked her hand back. She wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t let herself wallow in her grief and misfortunate—and her shame. She had to get out of the house—into the sunshine or the shade or a. More

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