“You know what, Winter?” My voice is low, but it vibrates with an unfamiliar fury. “I am fucking tired. I am tired of you not seeing what I see. Tired of you talking shit about yourself. I am tired of you not realizing what’s right here”—my palm lands heavy on my chest—“right in front of you. What more do I have to fucking do for you to trust me? For you to give me the benefit of the doubt just once!”
