“I know it’s not your fault. I know, okay, but you just remind me so much of him. More and more each day.” “In what way?” I demanded, chest heaving. “In looks? Because if it’s in looks, then that’s not my fault. I can’t help who I look like, but I am nothing like that man in any other way.” “You are,” she said before leaving the room. “In every way.” And with those words, my mother cut me deeper and more viciously than my father ever had. Ever could.
