And I just know that this memory will be forever burned into my brain, because this kind of magic - the kind that can't be conjured with a spell, where everything is just right, and all your problems vanish for three perfect minutes - doesn't happen everyday.

I squint to decipher his scratchy boy writing.

I can't spend any more time pining after someone who doesn't belong to me.

And I sit down at the kitchen table and realize that Mom really died. That she’ll never come back. And that I am alone. Cold hands reach out for me, threaten to pull me into a dark place where I might never escape, and I let them. It’s like I’m trapped in a block of ice that nothing can penetrate. Everything around me is just a blur of colour, a flash of movement, garbled sounds. I can’t quite decipher and don’t want to. Time passes like sludge

I learned early that people don't like it when I take pills in front of them. It's one thing to know that someone is sick, and another to see direct evidence of it. It makes it less easy to ignore.

He thinks giving your kids everything is what makes you a good parent. Like, 'Here's an Xbox, and by the way, I won't be able to make it to your birthday again.' You can't buy your kid's love. He shakes his head, a sad, hollow laugh escaping him. But you wanna know the craziest part? I still want his approval.