Yes, you had insulted me, but why had I reacted so violently? Maybe I wanted your place in your mother’s heart. I’d dwelled there once. She’d adored me until you came, then everything I did displeased her. A few months after your birth, I began to miss the light that once sparkled in her eyes for me. It had been replaced with something murky, cloudy, and insincere—the look people give when they’ve given up on you. I thought that maybe she was tired and overwhelmed with new motherly duties, but the glimmer never returned. Not for me. I should’ve known then that we were done, but I kept hoping.
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