As a child I had always loved my mother. In my tiny world she was the most important figure. At the time I did not understand why everyone else seemed miserable to be around her. I was extremely baffled about why everyone was constantly fighting and why my older sister was never home. I did not understand until the day my older sister explained everything to me. It was a warm, summery night when my sister, Vee; her childhood friend, Devon; and I were hanging out. “Shh. Be quiet,” Vee told me, “they are right outside.” I nodded, showing her that I understood. We were on vacation at the time, so we were sharing a cramped beach house. On the bed of the smallest bedroom in the beach house huddled under a soft, red blanket, is where my life was going to change. “Do you want to  know the darkest secret of our family?” She asked me. Nerves swarmed around my stomach like a hive of bees. “Yes,” I replied, fighting away my nerves. “Our mom is a miserable, malevolent woman,” She explained, “she cheats on her husband, makes my life a living hell, and has lied to us more times than you would ever believe.” Suddenly my small world had gone dark. Everything started to make sense, but did I want it to? After 15 years of a seemingly happy life, it had all been a facade. My view of my family had become painfully irrevocable when she told me. She made all of my childhood’s mysteries crystal clear. She told me why they fight so much. She told me why she was never home. When she finally gave me satisfaction, I felt complete, but I wonder if it was better to have ignorance.