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A few months after our arrival in Scranton, I finally get up the Courage to ask Grandma Resuba the Question that is constantly on my mind. “Why do you hate us so much?” I say to her. “When mommy was here, you gave us milk and cookies and let us sit in your kitchen.” For the first time since we arrived, Grandma Resuba looks me full in the face. Her eyes bore into mine, Blazing with hatred. She spits out her reply. “Your mother was nothing! My son had no business marrying a woman with four kids.” Her voice rises higher as she rages on. “I’ll never forgive her for marrying my son. I’m glad she’s dead, only now I’m stuck with you miserable brats! Every penny and minute I spend with you takes away from what I should be giving to Alice. She’s my flesh and blood, and you’re nothing, just like your mother was.” When her mother died in a fire, eight-year-old Jerri thought life couldn’t get worse.

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