Sour Heart

by Jenny Zhang

She had this way of looking at me that made me feel like I had to apologize for being her daughter, that it wasn’t fair she had to love me no matter how obstinately stupid I was, or how I constantly frustrated her with my inability to comprehend what was beyond obvious. I’m sorry, I said to her in my head, all the time, but never in real life, just like my mother, who never said I’m sorry to me in real life either, only I had no idea if she also apologized in her head, and if she realized that she had the power to hurt me, to disappoint me as much as I disappointed her, to make me feel so alone that sometimes I couldn’t recognize myself in front of mirrors or in pictures.

It was only later, much, much, much later, that I understood and accepted that my parents paid for me to be free. All of it, I realized, had to be paid for by someone.