“I hated everyone constantly asking me if I was okay. I knew they meant well, but frankly, it’s a stupid question. I wasn’t okay. Everyone knew I wasn’t okay. They asked because they felt like they had to, because it made them feel better when I said I was fine. But what else was I supposed to say? No, I wasn’t okay. I was angry. Angry at the person who was responsible. Angry at myself for being the reason my dad was on the road that day. Angry at the world for moving on like my world hadn’t just stopped. I was jealous of friends who still had their dads, who took their relationships with them
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