“Yeah. I think this is what we call living with the consequences of your actions,” I say, reaching back to the entryway table to grab my car keys before stepping out of the house and locking the door behind me. “But let me put this into perspective for you. You just told me that you’re aware I’m dying, and not once have you asked me how I’m feeling, how my chemotherapy was, or if there’s even a chance that I might pull through. All you care about is how it affects you. But guess what? I am dying, and my time on this earth is limited, and the last thing I want to do is spend what little time I
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Finger clapssss
