This wasn’t how I thought it would be. How I always dreamt it would be.
There was nothing like this at all.
We were supposed to talk about everything. About boys and friends. About school and clothes and makeup. About life.
We were supposed to laugh and be silly together. And cry together. And share our dreams with each other.
My baby girl is almost sixteen.
She says she hates me.
I’m not even sure how to process that.
The silence after the storm is deafening. Relentless.