There was always an aunt who was kind, cute, and carried a slightly intimidating presence. When I returned home, she was waiting for me by the entrance—apparently sent by my mother. The moment I stepped inside, she headed to the kitchen and started doing the dishes and laundry. After things settled down a bit, she opened a lemon sour, drank it in one go, and seemed to get a little tipsy. She began treating me like a child, talking to me affectionately. Then, as if inviting me, she started touching me. Those touches gradually grew more intimate, until I found myself caught in a slow, lingering kiss. Her breath carried the sweet tang of lemon sour…