The school called. “Your daughter hasn’t been pick…

don’t do this. She’s my whole life.”

No.

She was not his whole life.

She was the life he manufactured to support a story about himself.

He wanted to co-parent.

To negotiate.

To “do what’s best for her.”

To remain central.

He still didn’t understand that the center had moved.

“You took her,” I said. “You took my body, my name, my consent, my future, and you continue reading …