I can’t breathe. Surviving my father’s death is too hard. It feels like one more moment and I’ll choke. In my head I repeat the mantra: “I’m strong, I can do it,” clenching my fists until it hurts and no longer noticing the salty tracks on my cheeks.
Today I have to go back to Montana to my mother, whom I haven’t seen for four long years. To a mother who, it seems, is preparing to get married again. From now on, I’ll have to survive under one roof with my worst enemy.
One thing comforts me—he hates me just as much as I hate him.
Contains explicit profanity.