“Sometimes you choose your own reality, Andrew. You’ve always been like this, and I’m not angry at you. I understand. It’s like when we were little, you’d tell these sprawling, fantastical stories, but they never ended. Even when I got tired of playing, you wouldn’t. You’d lie on the carpet for hours just playing alone … in your head.” Her voice had gone thin and rusted, and she fought to steady herself. “Thomas made you interested in this world. And I get it. I’m grateful to him. But…”
