this morning #423.

this morning, with a steaming pot of lemon ginger tea in one hand & a plate of cinnamon toast in the other, she sat down at the kitchen table to lay her cards out & settle the score before the story got set in stone. first of all, it was not her fault. if he thought it was, there was no need for her to even move on to the truth. he likely wouldn’t blame her but even if he didn’t, the insinuation would still be there. she cared about that aspect, his habitual passive-aggressive style, more than anything else but she’d just move past it. she always did. she’d glide right past & lay out the truth: her mother had stolen his identity & fled the country. the only thing he could blame her for was being related to a grifter.