At 6 A.M. My Daughter Texted Me About the Money She Took and Said She Was Gone for Good

That evening I wrote it. Not to Lucy, and not to Richard, but to the version of myself I was saying goodbye to. The one who had believed that self-erasure was the same as love. Who had measured her worth by how much she could give and how little she could take. Who had spent forty-five years holding her own dreams in reserve so someone else’s could continue reading …