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I can feel it, scrunching up like it does before I’m about to ugly cry and it gets all red and squishy. It’s not only the mention of our daughter, but the entire bizarre and unexpected conversation itself, including the way he said his old nickname for me. The soft and pleading way he said it, like he’s drowning and he needs me to throw him a life preserver. How conveniently he forgot that I was once drowning, too, and the only thing he did was turn his back and walk away as I went under. “Whatever this is, Chris, it’s coming too late. Don’t bother with apologies now. I’m sorry to hear that you’re having a rough time, because I wish you well, honestly I do, but the only thing this phone call is doing is ripping the scabs off old wounds that I’m still trying to heal.” After a moment, he
- Writer
