“Here you can be afraid,” he says softly. “You can be angry, and wretched, and so discouraged you want to die. And still you are accepted, and still you are fed. And still you are loved.” I bite back a sob. I’m cracking open inside—I’m breaking—the pieces I’ve pushed together and held so firmly intact—they are unsealing, falling apart. “Sometimes I need to be reminded,” he murmurs. “Reminded of what?” I whisper. “That I am enough. Even when I’m not.”
