RAVENNA
When we got home, she went straight to her room without a word. I didn’t follow her immediately, I stood in the kitchen, arms braced on the counter, trying to swallow the pressure building in my chest.
It wasn’t fair, none of it.
I had worked so hard to give her a sense of normal, to teach her kindness and empathy. But today reminded me that the world rarely gives what it demands.
After a moment, I went into her room. She was curled up on the bed, facing the wall, a stuffed rabbit clutched in her arms.
I sat beside her and gently rubbed her back. “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “Then we don’t have to, we can just sit.”
Minutes passed, then she turned slightly and whispered. “Why do people hate what they don’t understand?
