She may be my child by blood, and my love might be eternal, but that doesn’t mean I have to like her. It doesn’t mean I can’t wish for things to be different, that I can’t have regrets. Sometimes—oftentimes, really—I wonder if it might’ve been better for both of us if we’d never found each other. She’d have the fantasy of her false family; I would have my dreams. For now, they are dashed. For now, I must live with the fact that this person, this Mia-impersonator, is the one that I am bound to, obligated to, related to. Because even as I find myself crying at night over the person I wish she
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They both need a family counselor. I great one at that!
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