I hope they remember the good stuff, when I was a baby, a toddler, when they still had hopes and dreams for their little girl, their miracle child. In truth they were good to me. They were only doing what they knew how to do; what they thought was best.

What I know is you can't go back. You can't press delete and re-key your life.

She responds by kissing me harder and longer and deeper. She loves me too. She's just afraid.

That earns him a smack with my book bag. "Ow." He clutches his arm. "What do you have in there? Books?" A grin snakes across his face. "I like my women feisty." He adds, "I like my broken.

She's still doing it, pushing me into situations I can't handle, making me cope. She knows I can't cope.

Like anyone cared where I was, or who I was.

They didn't guarantee you'd come out a whole person.