toward the narrow strip of light from my apartment, at the blurry shapes moving inside.
Then I looked back at her.
“What I want,” I said slowly, “is a mother who doesn’t treat me like a servant or a spare part. I want a family where my worth isn’t measured by how well I make you look. I don’t know if you’re capable of being that person.”
She flinched.
“So that’s it.”
“No,” I said. “That’s the starting line. If you want a relationship with me, here are the rules.
