When the sonographer jubilantly announced the gender of our baby at our 20 week morphology scan, I burst into tears.
If only I hadn’t been traumatized as a child, I would have been able to save myself from you.
A few months from now, you’ll text me. Even though I deleted your number, I’ll know it’s you.
After my assault, I felt lonely, hopeless, and like “damaged goods.”
For the shortest moment in time, everything that I thought I wanted, I briefly had. Though, really, did I?
“Snitches get stitches” is always something we joke about when someone knows something you’ve done. This, however, was the real deal.
I’m spellbound by his wisdom and his wrinkles and is that so wrong?
The monster under the bed had me frightened and tucked into my blankets to avoid being grabbed. But as an adult, there is a much different fear.
I am more fearful now of speaking on the matter than I was living it.
Ours was an old-school, undeniable, unbelievably consuming love – or so people thought.