“I’m starting to think I made a mistake, then,” my dad says quietly, his entire face lined with regret. He blinks quickly and clears his throat, never looking anywhere but right at me. “When I taught you how to love.” Something in my chest fractures. Worse than when Evelyn walked out my greenhouse door. “What?” “If you think love means having to sacrifice bits of yourself to make someone else happy,” he explains. “If you’re afraid to ask after what you want. Maybe I did something wrong.”
CRAZY dialogue
