“Say it,” I growl. “This is the reason why I can’t move on. This is the reason I’ve been stuck for so long, stuffing the truth down, pretending to be someone else… Because you made me feel like the truth made me sick, diseased, or damaged. It happened, Dad. It fucking happened, whether or not you wish it didn’t, it did. You can’t pray it away. God doesn’t fucking care about your Hail Marys or your penance. Say the fucking words out loud, because they’re true, or so help me, you’ll lose your son. I will walk out of this restaurant, and you’ll never see me again.”
