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  • I've spent weeks trying to think my way out of this hurt, explain it away, rationalize it, cram it under the furniture so I wouldn't see it, numb myself out so I wouldn't feel it.


    But it's here. At my doorstep like a brazen relative armed with suitcases and duffel bags and she won't hear anything about staying in any damned hotel. She's even brought her own pillow and a box of Snackwells which she has no intention of sharing.


    She's taken up residence in my spare room and we are going to be bathroom buddies. She criticizes my taste in shampoo and tells me I should be neater with the toothpaste. She scrutinizes me in the mirror, tutting disapprovingly over my expanding legs. She warns me that stress will strip my hair of pigment and cortisol will cause me to gain belly fat.


    Is there anything else you want to say to me, I mutter, exasperated and on the verge of tears.
    Loser, she says softly, shaking her head. Oh, you didn't want a cookie did you? I didn't think so.
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