“Did I fuck you up?” Her voice breaks. “What? No,” I lie. “I think I fucked you up.”“No.” I shake my head. “No, no, you didn’t. If I’m fucked-up, it isn’t because of you.” She’s crying. “I’m fine, Mom, really,”
“Did you turn to her when you were upset or scared?” I consider the question. I think of myself in my bedroom, lying under my blankets, muffling the sound of myself crying into my pillow. “No.”
— Aug 10, 2025 08:14AM
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