My Oscar dad and Grammy mom saw me as an ugly, unwanted daughter, called me Toad, and sent me to Grandma Maggie. 18 years later, I got into Harvard and came home masked. Dad frowned: "Hiding your ugly face?" Mom laughed, saying I'd look worse next to pretty Sienna. Sienna took my hand, calling beauty a burden and me "blessed to be ugly". My hand paused. Grandma wrote monthly—I got prettier daily, boys flocked. She sent pics. They never opened any, never knew what I'd become.
