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 deep within me. Like an anchor, 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.
That’s how it had been for a...
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