We would break down in the middle of the road, wouldn’t we?
It was typical of my experiences with my birth mother. She always got her way. She wanted to have a talk after ten+ years living away from me and Dad. The car obeyed. Shocker.
Where the hell was that mechanics person?
‘At the time, things were different son. I felt suffocated. Your father and I married very young.’
This is the fifth excuse I’ve heard.
‘Let me level with you Ann, I’m not interested in excuses. I want the truth.’
And to know you feel bad about it.
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