“We’re doing okay, ain’t we? I mean, we’re doing pretty goddamn okay if you ask me. But you walk around here, tiptoeing, like you don’t deserve even an inch of the day to do anything nice with. You’re always just cleaning. You’re a shadow mopping the floor or washing the walls. At night, you’re just the shape of you sleeping in the chair because you don’t even think you deserve the bed. It’s like your face still hurts where Mom smacked it and called you worthless when we were six years old. I don’t wanna live with the window only half open, Arc. Only half of the sun. Only half of the
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