“What you just said—it’s the problem.” I don’t get it. “Why?” I ask. “Because I’m wrong?” “Because you’re right.” She fists her crumpled sweater, balled in her hands. “Because you’re making me feel better, and that’s the issue, Thatcher. You are helping me when everyone says I should be helping myself. These aren’t horrible comments about my weight or appearance or upbringing. They’re attacking my independence…and for me, that’s…” Tears well up in her eyes. “It’s your identity,” I finish for her, understanding fully now.
