I don’t hate you, anymore. I don’t spend my nights imagining what my life would be like if only you died, and I no longer fantasize about having a family, let alone having a family healed of the rifts created by your convictions and schemes. I no longer believe you are purposefully torturing me, or that you secretly knew what was happening when I was 15 and I started dressing in leather skirts and eschewing sleeves.

I don’t believe you were capable of understanding that when you stroked my ha...