I have to tell her any and everything. All of my truths, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, belong to her. Her hands are their home, and she might choose to discard them, to toss them over her shoulder or crush them under the soles of her feet, but she’ll never be able to say that I didn’t give them to her, that I withheld information from her or deprived her of the opportunity to weigh in on decisions that impact both of us.
