“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
I gripped the steering wheel. “For what?”
“For being the reason you got excluded. For being the broken one.”
I pulled over so fast the car behind me honked. I turned to face him, this boy—this young man—who had carried more weight than any teenager should have to carry.
“Listen to me,” I said, my voice shaking. “You are not broken. Your home is not broken. What’s broken is a family that measures worth by whether your parents stayed married. What’s broken is a grandfather who thinks love and support should be conditional.”His eyes were wet. “But maybe if Dad had stayed—”
Voir la suite sur la page suivante:
