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“Dad.” “Daughter.” “Father!” “Fruit of my loins.”
“I know you have your own thoughts and opinions on how I should react to this,” she said evenly. “But it’s a lot easier to know what to do when it’s another person’s life you’re judging.”
“I’m not afraid of loving a boy,” I told her honestly. “I’m afraid of losing myself in one.”
“No, Paul, I’m not picking him over you, I’m picking me over you,”
I’d given so much power over to a boy who refused to call me his girlfriend.