Guilt

My biological sister walked me through a maze of high-rises, down a sparsely treed street, across a parking lot, through a cluttered garage, and into a shoe-filled entryway where garlic, cabbage, and the sweat-addled pungency of age struck me with uncompromising insistence. After I removed my boots, I followed her down a dim hallway towards a jagged triangle of light, the yellow rays seeping from a small room on the left. Before we arrived, she turned to me and said, “Are you ready?