moment ended.
Not without doing something.
I’d always thought the worst pain was watching your child cry.
It’s worse watching them suppress tears because they don’t want to upset you.
Later that evening, while my relatives celebrated at the restaurant, I stood outside Ava’s bedroom holding untouched roast duck and wondering how we’d reached this point.
Deep down, I knew.
It had started when I was born.
I was the second daughter, two years younger than my sister and unplanned.
Mom never called me a mistake outright.
She didn’t need
