Why’s everybody always ganging up on Mom? That question has filled my mind my whole life. First, when I was still living with my mom and dad. Then, when I was 12, and us kids were forced to go live with our grandma. Then, again, when we were steadily permitted, one by one, to move back in with my mom and dad, with me being the last. I was 18, now. And I was bound and determined, more than ever, to find out. After all, I loved my mom. Probably more than anybody in the world. And I just knew she didn’t deserve always being ganged up on. And I didn’t care what I had to do to prove it.