“I had school,” I said softly. I’d learned long ago that arguing with her was never a good thing, and raising my voice was a disaster. All I could do was give quiet explanations and hope that she would see them as justified. Maryanne huffed. “What a waste. It’s not like you’ll ever amount to anything.” I hated that the words still hurt. That they branded my skin, leaving invisible scars to match the ones clear to see. It was as if she were trying to counter every message my father had ever told me. That I could do anything I set my mind to. That I was kind and clever. Beautiful in every way.
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