At a certain point, she realises that she is no longer narrating to the abstract audience in her mind, but rather, she is narrating to her hypothetical child, this formerly possible baby, this baby that could have been hers. Maggie, your hypothetical mother. Maggie, who would have loved you as best she could, if she could. Maggie, who can’t. Maggie, who’s sorry. Maggie, who was not able to make you feel real, even though she badly wanted to guide you by the hand to your first day at school and be nervous for you, restless, so afraid you wouldn’t make friends. She wanted to bite her nails at
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