“You’re my best friend too.” It comes out as a throaty whisper. “That’s why today was so hard, when my dad left.” My throat twists, my voice wobbling: “Because you saw it. And it makes me feel pathetic. Even more so because the truth is, if he turned around and came right back here, I’d be thrilled. I’d forgive him again and again, just hoping that eventually I’d actually mean something to him. I’d call and beg him to come back, if I thought there was a chance he’d say yes. But I can’t, because I know he won’t. And I don’t want to hear that. I don’t want him to prove that I’m…” I’m trying to
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