It wasn’t my fault, you know, what happened. That took me years to accept. But I have. I have accepted that, despite what he said, it wasn’t my fault.

 I couldn’t have known.

 It wasn’t on me.

Though sometimes, deep in my heart of hearts, I can still feel the guilt he sowed far down within me. Like an anchor, one of a growing many, a constant weight, just another thing to a carry with me.

 After it, I began talking to him less and less. He didn’t really seem to want me around; too much of a reminder I suppose. Then slowly, weeks stretched to months and inevitably into years, until it finally devolved to nothing. We stopped talking altogether. I came around only when he wasn’t there and any news came through my mother.

 Th...

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