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“He what?” I asked.
“He left,” she said again.
She did air quotes with her fingers, then dropped her hands and wiped her eyes.
“His parents backed him,” she went on.
“They said I trapped him. That it was my fault.”
My hands curled into fists on my knees.
“He walked out on you while you were carrying his child?” I said.
She nodded.
“I begged him to stay for her,” she said. “Not for me.
For her. He still moved out. Filed for divorce.
She let out a small, bitter laugh.
“I thought I could do it alone,” she said. “I read all the books. Went to classes.
I kept telling myself, ‘Dad did it. Dad raised me alone. I can do this.’”
Her voice broke.
“But it’s not like the books,” she said.
“She cries and I don’t know why. She won’t sleep. The apartment’s always a mess.
I feel like I’m failing her every single minute.”
“And I knew… if I brought her to you, I’d see it,” she said. “How easy it is for you. How natural.
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