After My Father’s

before work.

Not because I was especially religious.

Because it was quiet.

I sat in the back pew and spoke to my father like he was sitting beside me.

“I’m sorry I lied,” I whispered.

My voice echoed softly.

“I wasn’t happy. I was managed. I was tired. I thought marriage meant endurance. I thought if I admitted I had chosen badly, it meant I was stupid.”

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