Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday. As always I'll be spending it giving thanks for the bounty of secrets I've harvested from you this year. But leave a place for me at your table. I'll be back for just desserts.
Your daughter wakes up alone, drugged in an empty motel room, and you don't call the cops? You don't ask if she's OK or what happened? You just have her committed? What kind of mother does that?