It hit at once like a lightning strike. Everything clicked, though it was about three years too late. She wasn’t the one. Never once did she go home with me to Georgia. The way she’d micromanage every little thing I wore, especially when we went to one of her fucking parties. How she hated when I wasn’t with her but wasn’t happy when I was. The way we never had good days. They were either amazing or awful—so high or so fucking low. It was never good enough. I was never good enough.
