"What. Was. Inside?"
He ran his hand over his face.
It turned out it wasn't a gift.
It was a way.
A way to make me feel bad. "Accidentally." "Unpredictably." I'd been telling Laura for a long time that I pressured him, that I interfered, that I made him feel guilty. That I was a heavy burden from the past that prevented him from living a "normal" life.
I didn't recognize myself in that description. But, apparently, I lived with that same image of my mother.
I wanted everything to seem like a natural cause. Age. Heart. Accident.
I didn't mean to hurt the children.
I was just sure that I would be the only one who ate the sweets.
The son I rocked in my arms, who sat by his crib at night, whom I taught to tie his shoelaces, whom I comforted after his first scraped knees, who decided the world would be a better place without me. E eu não estava errado nos meus cálculos.
Foi porque eu ainda tinha o hábito de compartilhar.
Conclusão
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