When she tilts her head and stares at me impatiently, it’s as if her cruel words from less than twenty-four hours ago don’t count anymore. But they do. They count more than anything, because that was her opinion of me before she had every bullshit lie shoved down her throat by my assistant. It's easy for me to accept that the rest of the world may perceive me that way. It's harder when it comes from someone I care about. My natural defense is to lean into it—to push her away before she destroys me like she inevitably will.
