“When my sister was born, my parents kept saying how perfect she was, and I was so resentful, I refused to even look at her for weeks.” There were no platitudes, no raised eyebrows, no attempts to soften what he’d just said. She just studied him with the same lack of judgment he’d reserved for her, as though he hadn’t just shared the most fucked up of stories, until he glanced away. He didn’t even know her name, and he’d spilled about something he’d never acknowledged before, not even to his closest friends. Probably because he didn’t know her name.
