“What was it like having a good family?” I asked him. “I’m not sure I knew how good it was until just now,” he replied. “Yes, you did. You love your parents. And this house. I can tell.” He smiled gently. “I don’t know if I can explain it. But being here . . . it’s like I can be my truest, most authentic self. I can cry. I can be in a bad mood, or sad, or happy. Any of those moods are accepted here. I don’t feel that anywhere else.” The way he described it made me sad I never had it. “I don’t know what that’s like,” I said. Scotty bent down and kissed my hand. “I’ll give it to you,” he said.
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