Living with my father was much different than living with my mother. Not better, just different. Gone were the late night parties, long parental absences and the ability to order my life as I wanted, so long as I went to school, did my homework and watched over my sister. My father, a police officer, believed in order, believed in discipline and, most of all, believed that I needed structure. And he was going to provide it to me, in spades.
   I had been lured into moving in with him and my stepmother with promises of food, and no longer being responsible for my sister. While the first part of that was true, the second was not. As soon as I moved in not only was I was still responsible for my younger sister, but now I was also given my baby sister, recently arrived from my father...

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