We weren't sure what we'd found under Momma's bed, but we knew it was bad. Six bags of white powder and a box full of needles - it was the kind of truth that punched you in the stomach and left you searching for your breath. Ella May's face twisted up like it did the time we found Momma rocking back and forth in the hall closet. She scooped up the bags of white stuff and emptied them one by one into the toilet. "Don't tell," is all she said, and I didn't. But the phone calls started that night; come to think of it, that's when everything started.
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