So interesting that your mother didn’t let you have the doll you wanted and she treated you like the doll she wanted, dressing you in clothes that scratched or were uncomfortable for you in other ways. Strong writers like you use sensory details like that scratching collar. I felt that so physically, as did anyone who’s ever endured such a thing. And this: “Coconut and cigarette smoke hung together in the air, sweet and heavy.” Those scents are so specific, and I would never think of them belonging together, which says so much, both physically and metaphorically. And the crawling into a closet to read is so relatable. It’s what the quiet kids do, right? I still have the urge to do that when I look at my bedroom closet. I live alone, in a home where I’m safe, yet still feel that urge.