When my stepmother, Eleanor, died, the house felt strangely untouched by grief. Women’s empowerment coaching No casseroles lined the kitchen counters. No stream of relatives filled the driveway with solemn faces and whispered condolences. At the funeral, there were barely a dozen people—three neighbors from down the street, two women from her office, the pastor, and me. Even my father’s siblings, who never missed a chance to criticize her when she was alive, stayed away. To most of the family, she had been the villain. They called her cold. Calculating. Controlling. “She never smiles unless it’s convenient,” my aunt once...
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