After my mother had died, Bee’s mental health deteriorated rapidly. She’d sank into the kind of depression that had me checking on her throughout the night and calling the school during the day. My therapist had suggested a boarding school—Bright Horizons, centered around mental health—and offered to evaluate her for admission. Bee had passed with flying colors and even managed to get a small bit of financial assistance to cover some of the cost of her tuition. Conner and I split the rest–an unwilling contribution on his part, seeing as he thought mental illness was a bunch of bullshit. The
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