“Don’t worry about it. I’ll practice on my own and impress you with all my skills.” He sinks deeper into the mattress. “I love you.” The dull throb ebbs a bit. “Te quiero, mijo. Con todo mi corazón.4” “I’m sorry,” he murmurs as I near the door. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Just know that I’m always here if you want to try reading together.” Rejection of any kind hurts, but there isn’t anything more painful than being on the receiving end of it from my son. Your own kid doesn’t want you around, the sick voice of self-sabotage returns at full force. Son. Husband. Father. My list of
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