It’s been too long since I’ve been here; I’ve been busy working on longer works (soon to be published on Amazon) as well as non-TG writing. Recently I found this older story that has not been presented before. It follows the familiar diary format, somewhat similar to my story “Stupid Diary”.

A warning: The story opens with domestic abuse.

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Angry Diary, by Karin Bishop

Part One

7/12

We buried my father today. Good riddance. I guess every kid hates his father if he gets hit all the time, but that’s not why I hated him the most—it was how he hurt Mom. She’s the only one making money, working two jobs and looking for a third, holding things together, and he goes and clobbers her …

Just realized I’m writing like he’s still around. It’s bad enough that I’ve got his name, Alan. But I’m always Alan, not ‘Al’, like him. Not anything like him—Al, the life of the party. Al, always ready to buy a drink or drink the one you buy him. And finally: Al, the smear on the highway.

It’s a weird irony, my father dying drunk on the way back from a bar, after being hit by another drunk driver. But that’s life’s weird sense of humor, I guess.

Good damn riddance.

7/17

So we buried him and now we start the rest of our lives. Mom and I had a long talk tonight about the future. There’s some insurance money and some other stuff, so she can scale back to one job and I can get a part-time job and we’ll make it. Might even be pretty comfy, compared to when he was around. At least what we make now won’t be spent on his booze; we never used to know how much money would be left at the end of the month.

The hospital bills were piling up, too.

We talked about my father. I still can’t and won’t call him ‘Dad’ because he wasn’t one. He was just a piece of crap, and I wonder if he soured Mom on men.

I hope she doesn’t mean me.

7/28

Mom seems like she’s coming out of a long fog or something. She joined a health club to lose weight—not that she really needs to, but she does need to get back in shape. She’s always been strong, but got pretty weak after that long hospital stay last year when my father really smashed her up, and I think she’s just now getting it together.

I should probably feel guilty saying it, but I’m so glad that my father got killed.

He was a nasty piece of sh

He was a fuc

No. No! I will not talk like him. I will not even write words he used all the time. I will not be anything like him, that foul-mouthed drunken son of

* * *

I had to break off there. I had to get up and walk around. He makes me so mad! Even dead he pisses me off! To think that he was my father, ‘the man who gave me life’ and all that, and he was a horrible, horrible excuse for a human being. And Mom’s so wonderful! How could she ever have been with him, even for the short time it took to create me? And it is so weird to think of it that way!

She tries to comfort me when I get all wound up. I start breathing fast and my fists curl up and my stomach gets sour, my mouth, too, and she has to plead with me to calm down, gently stroking my arms and holding my hands until my fists unclench and my breathing slows back down.

It’s the helplessness that gets me more than anything else. It didn’t matter how hard I clench my fists, they’re useless. When he was around, and hurting her, I couldn’t do anything at all; I tried and tried and even beat at him with my useless little fists but I got knocked down and then he hit her harder. So I’d hide in my room, huddled on my bed with my pillow gripped tightly around my head, but I could still hear the hits and her screams and I got all twisted and it felt like acid in my stomach and I was ashamed. I was ashamed that my father was like that, and ashamed at how he was treating us, and ashamed that I didn’t stand up and do something about it!

Not that I could do anything about it. About the only thing I could do was head him off; I learned how and it worked better than trying to stop him once he got started. When I could tell he was going to go after Mom, I’d do or say something quick to piss him off even more and he’d turn on me. So he’d hurt me, but at least Mom was safe. He never knew that the whole time he was hitting me, I was thinking, “Thank God it’s not her.”

But he’s dead and still I hate him. I hate him so much I want to dig him up and grab his jacket and pull him up and just scream how much I hate him!!! Just scream in his dead rotting face and scream and scream and scream!!!

8/3

Mom’s worried about me. Well, yeah, I’m pretty mental about my father. I think I have a right to be, but when I think about him, I get so wound up and my hands kind of itch and my stomach goes sour and the headaches don’t help at all.

I’ve got to focus on the now. Or maybe that should be capitalized, the Now. It’s the Now when Al no longer walks this earth. No longer yells or curses or hits or

* * *

Did it again. I’ve really got to control myself. Supposedly, writing feelings down is helpful. That big word, ‘therapeutic’. I don’t know how therapeutic it is if I’m still writing about that damned dead man.

Okay; focus on Mom and me.

Mom’s so much better off now. She made a new friend at the heath club—it sounds fancy, like she’s posh and going to ‘the club’, but it’s a good place, for women only. Anyway, her friend’s named Judy something or other. She’s a doctor, and that’s a major step up from Mom’s old friends. Well, they weren’t really friends, because my father wouldn’t let her have real friends. They were his sisters, so that doesn’t really count. And with him in the ground, we haven’t heard a single word out of them. Good riddance to them, too.

Anyway, Mom and Judy seem to have hit it off, and I know Mom’s happier now.

8/12

There’s nothing to do. There isn’t ever anything to do during summer. Or much of the school year, even, but at least there’s school. I was just hanging out, doing nothing. Well, when I can, I hang out with Scotty Henderson. I’ve known Scotty since, like, forever. That’s the thing about a small town; you tend to have the same kids around year after year.

But Scotty’s cool even if he’s fat. Well, to be fair about it, he’s not fat-fat, just really doughy. More than pudgy. Soft and blobby, kind of. Breathes hard real fast if he has to run or do any hard work or something.

That sounded mean when I read it back to myself. It’s not like that. Scotty’s a really good guy, and I know he eats a lot of candy and pork rinds and crap so maybe he’s pudgy from that, but maybe it’s a medical thing so I should just shut up about it.

He’s a good guy and really good at computer games and stuff, and we’re just comfortable around each other. But we’re kind of bored.

When I think about it, I think that maybe we’re also kind of boring, too.

9/14

God, I hate starting school! I know everybody writes that in their diaries, but that doesn’t make it any the less true. And it’s not just hating school because it means the end of summer; I hate school every day. I just sort of disappear there as best I can. Of course, that’s easy when you’re my size. The damn PE coach made a point of that, right at the start of things, when he had me stand up next to a mark on the wall.

“Five-two,” he shouted to the other guys. “Any one of you can probably jump over Cunningham. Except for you, Henderson.”

Like it’s important to be tall or something. Big deal.

He always dumps on Scotty, too. He did last year and he’s starting out this one the same way. So, fat Scotty and little Alan are always dead last in everything in that damn class. And we usually wind up eating lunch together because no one else will let us at their table. Well, Susan McMillan would, because she’s always been nice, but the other girls wouldn’t let her, and we wouldn’t do it anyway because they’re all girls.

I thought about that; what if Susan convinced the girls to let us join them? What would we talk about? I know that girls talk about clothes a lot, which would leave Scotty and me out. It’d be creepy if we said anything about that. But girls talk about music and TV shows and movies, too—I’ve heard them in the halls—and about what their families are doing, and how their classes are, and we could join in, I’m pretty sure.

It’s just that it would look odd, the two of us sitting there with three or four girls, and everybody—not just the girls at the table, but every kid in the cafeteria—would know it looked odd, and would talk about it.

I wouldn’t put Susan through that. So if she looks my way, I smile and go on listening to Scotty talk about a new Star Wars game.

9/16

I must’ve been bitching about school more than usual, because I was getting looks from Mom. Well, and I’m still so angry at my father and, yeah, I’ve said some things about it. It’s just that life is good now—except for school—and Mom and I are in a great place, happy and comfortable with each other. Sure, there are bills to be paid and I wish I could help her, but our lives are at peace.

I realized that it’s because we’re at peace that it’s so obvious what a hell he put us through. We’d gotten so used to hits and curses and tears and things thrown that the contrast between then and now just filled me with rage.

And, yeah, maybe I was bitching about my father some more. Still.

So Mom came home with a plan. Tomorrow I’m going to meet Judy, her friend, but as a patient. I mean, I’m going for a checkup. Mom says maybe I’ve got a deficiency in my blood or something that can be fixed.

I just don’t like to think about his blood in me.

9/18

Did the checkup yesterday; I just had a chance to write about it now.

Judy seems cool, very classy, and has an impressive office. One wall of the waiting room had a big water fountain; not really a fountain but water cascading smoothly down a bronze textured sheet. It was a pleasant burbling sound but the cool thing was that Judy said it was a nice way to humidify the room. That’s just the way Judy is; smart and all, but there are depths to her. Gentle and thoughtful, too—she even warmed up her stethoscope before sticking it on my chest!

Maybe I’m being way out of line, but I kind of think something might be going on with her and Mom. Just little things, like looking at each other just a little longer than would be usual. Some touches. A certain smile …

And if there is anything going on, I think I’m okay with it.

I’ve been thinking about it for the last day, and it comes down to this: as a supposedly intelligent, enlightened person—although I’m only in middle school—I don’t have a problem with the concept of lesbians. It’s just when it’s your own mother that it gets weird!

I mean, it creeps out every kid I know to even think about their mothers and fathers … doing it, you know? Like sex is something that you lose once you’re thirty or after kids come or something, and the thought gets gross for a kid. Not sex itself, but between your parents. I don’t know.

It’s just that for the first time that I can remember, my mom is happy, and if Judy gives her that happiness, then I’m all for whatever they want to do.

9/19

Just realized I forgot to write about the checkup. It was the usual thing, with a throat look-see, and chest thumping and coughing, some blood drawn, and then the really embarrassing ‘turn-your-head-and-cough’ thing. I’ve done it many times before, but not with a woman doctor.

Oh wait; I did have a woman doctor do that to me once, the checkup before summer camp two years ago. Then my father drank up the camp money so I couldn’t go. But other than that, no woman doctor.

And certainly no woman doctor who may or may not be in love with Mom.

Anyway, we’ll know in a few days. The blood tests, I mean.

9/21

What’s that thing in Bye, Bye, Birdie that Dick Van Dyke’s mother says? ‘I got a condition, and if there’s one thing doctors can’t cure, it’s a condition!’ Something like that. Mom loves that movie and watches it every time it’s on. Lord knows I’ve seen it often enough.

So I got a condition.

Anyway, the blood results came back, and I’m starting prescription vitamins tomorrow. Today, I had to get a damn shot. Two of ‘em, actually, one in each ass cheek. Some supplement. At least it’s pills from now on. And Mom’s got a page full of some exercises for me to do that she and Judy and their instructor at the club put together. They’re supposed to work on my hips, legs, and abs. Doesn’t every exercise video promise to work on your hips, legs, and abs? Mostly these are leg lift type things and hip wiggly stuff. Not really sweaty, thank God, but I have to do them every morning.

Missed the last half of school today because of the doctor. Scotty brought over my homework. He’s a pretty cool guy, like I said; just fat. Maybe he should work on his hips, legs, and abs!

9/26

Hung out with Scotty at the mall today, checking out new video games before we headed to his house. Scotty’s been talking about this new Star Wars thing for the X-Box and finally got one and invited me over. And it is pretty incredible—the X-wings react instantly when you work the controls so it really felt like flying. I had an old Super Nintendo until my father smashed it, and I never got another game unit.

Just thinking about that morning, and the pieces lying around on the floor, made me start to breathe fast again with my anger but I guess I channeled it before my hands started making fists again.

Maybe Mom will get me an X-Box for my birthday or Christmas.

9/28

I just felt really cruddy today. A little feverish, but the thermometer only said 99.1—what does it know? I feel itchy all over, kind of twitchy, like I can’t sit still for any length of time. And at the same time I feel strangely soft and almost sort of squishy. Scientific, huh?

Maybe I picked up a bug or something over at Scotty’s the other day.

9/30

Not so twitchy now, thank God. Still out of sorts. Hate it.

11/2

Didn’t feel like writing anything for awhile, but I’ve got to write this: it’s official! Mom and Judy are An Item! Mom sat me down and we had a long talk. I kind of guessed what was coming, but I let her think she brought it all out, step by step, and then the presto and ta-dah! Mom’s gay!

Actually, she is and she isn’t. She said she’s never had any feelings for women before, and I think I understand her. She says that something about Judy, though, got to her. I think a lot of it is that Mom might be scared of men—after that jerk of a husband of hers, that’s understandable—but I also think that she really, really needed a friend, and physical affection, and maybe love, too, and Judy is there to provide all of it.

I really and truly am happy for Mom!

At the end of September I wrote about feeling itchy and stuff. Anyway, today I dropped a pen and leaned down to get it. My chest pressed against the side of the table and it hurt! I mean, damn, it hurt! I immediately started rubbing it, and I still felt itchy. The rubbing seemed to help. And I still feel soft and squishy. Blobby, kind of like Scotty.

Oh, yeah; I forgot to write about Halloween. I never really get into it, so as usual I stayed home and passed out candy. Mom and Judy went to some party. When the little kids stopped coming, I went over to Scotty’s. He was weird. He was staring at the pile of candy left over. As usual, his mom bought way too much so he’d have some for his school lunches. And in-between. But now he just wasn’t in the mood. Just sat staring at the candy.

I hope he doesn’t have that fever thing I had a month ago. That was funky.

11/8

Went out with Mom and Judy for the first time, to dinner. Mom made me dress nicely, but at least I didn’t have to wear a tie. Mom looked better than she has ever looked—a combination of aerobics and Judy, I think—and Judy is, well, really something. Very nice, very confident, and seems to be genuinely very fond of Mom. That’s good, but now I’ve got to worry … if they break up, what will become of Mom?

Actually, there’s no signs of breaking up, I mean, that’s too far off in the future, if at all. They seem really in tune with each other. There’s a vibe, a connection between them, and I don’t know if anybody else can sense it, but I can feel the warmth between them. It made for a very nice time together, the three of us. And the food was incredible—this was at Jorgensen’s, the fancy-schmancy restaurant—and I was secretly glad I’d dressed up, because it was such a classy place.

One funny thing did happen, though. I had removed the sport coat and had my shirt on, and it’s kind of a light red—Mom calls it ‘salmon’—and it’s kind of big on me. So I’m sitting there with my hands in my lap and the waiter comes up and asks, “What can I get you ladies?” before he realized his goof! Man, his face was red!

I was so surprised I didn’t say anything, and so Judy took control and whispered something, and he smiled and said, “Sorry.”

After he left, Judy said that it was my hair. Yeah, it’s kind of long; well, actually it’s to my shoulders now. I keep it tied back, low on my neck, and it’s not a problem at school, but it sure was at home. I was determined to keep it long, even though I knew it drove my father crazy—maybe because it drove him crazy—and lately it’s been really healthy. Probably the new shampoo and conditioner Mom got me. Anyway, Judy said that from where she was sitting, and where the waiter saw me, the light immediately over my head shadowed my face gave me a weird halo effect, and the way I was sitting, combined with my hair shining away in the light, and the salmon shirt, confused the waiter.

Weird, huh?

11/18

For some reason, I’m feeling very calm. Even with the chaos of middle school. Maybe the vitamins are working; maybe it’s a growth plateau or something. Okay, maybe not a growth plateau, because I’m still the same 5'2"—hoping for 5'3"—but I seem to be gaining some weight. Mom says it looks good on me and not to worry. I actually was worried because I’m doing the exercises and everything, and Mom and I are eating really well now—lots of fish and light salads—but I’m getting kind of doughy. I wrote before about feeling soft and squishy but now I think I really am soft and squishy. Kind of puffy, too, especially my chest and down around my middle. My thighs, too, come to think of it. I’m only a few pounds up on the scale, but I would have thought it would have been a lot more. It’s more like the few pounds I’ve added just shift around or something.

Even Scotty noticed. We were stripping in the locker room—since we were always last, we were pretty much alone—and he said, “Dude, are you putting on weight? Maybe my fat is contagious!”

We had a laugh at that, but when we were running around the football field (well, walking, mostly), I thought about it.

I mentioned it to Mom, who said she’d talk with Judy. Doctor Judy, I thought; there’s a Judge Judy, so why not? Anyway, I’m back to see her tomorrow.

11/19

The weirdest thing … I think I fell asleep in the doctor’s office. One minute she’s asking me some questions about what I usually eat, and the next thing I know, she’s waking me up and joking about being such a boring doctor!

I thought that maybe I’d reacted to the shot she gave me—she said something about my endocrine system being out of whack—but she said there’s nothing in it to make me fall asleep. Weird, huh?

But I’ve been sleeping a lot lately; even though I’m eating healthy and taking vitamins and exercising. Judy said that since I hadn’t been doing any of that before, it might just be a shock to my system and that’s why I’m so tired.

I don’t know, but I feel pretty good, overall. I think I feel calmer because now it’s really sunk in that my father is gone for good, so we can both relax.

Oh, one thing I forgot to mention—yesterday I caught the edge of my pinky nail in some laundry and God it hurt! No wonder they do stuff under the fingernails to torture people! Anyway, Mom came home with a manicure kit for me and took the time to show me how to properly take care of my nails. They were all jagged from biting—I guess all the stress from living with my father—and at some point I’d stopped biting them but I never filed ‘em or anything and it’s a wonder I didn’t cut myself to shreds in my sleep!

Mom and Judy are doing great, and the three of us talked about them going away for a weekend. Actually, I suggested it, and I think it would be great. After all, I’m thirteen and able to take care of myself. I mean, really! All I have to do is microwave something when I get hungry and keep the place clean. I don’t do dangerous sports; I’m not going to throw an outrageous party; so what’s the harm? Besides, if I know Mom, she’ll be calling me every fifteen minutes!

11/23

Okay, a seriously weird weekend. Judy and I finally convinced Mom to go away for the weekend; they went to the mountains and although she didn’t want to show it, I could tell Mom was really jazzed! And, yes, she did call every few hours Friday night. I just had a lazy night, watched a Julia Roberts movie and went to sleep early. Saturday morning I exercised and then went to the library to do some research for a science project. I got home with my books about four, nuked some Healthy Choice fish thing and cleaned up. My brain was fried from hours at the library, so I planned to watch another movie. One of my old favorites, Die Hard, was on, but I just wasn’t really up to it, so I watched another oldie, She’s All That. It was a lot better than I remembered, and I was surprised to find I was teary eyed at the end. Maybe my eyes were just tired from all that studying.

Here’s the seriously weird part. I was thinking about Rachel Leigh Cook from the movie, and that scene where she’s transformed by Freddy Prinze’s sister. I wonder if Scotty knows it was Anna Paquin before she became a blonde Sookie on True Blood! But that scene … Suddenly, I had an overwhelming wish that it was me … that I was coming down the stairs in that red minidress … that I was going to the dance. I swear I never thought like this before, but it was just so powerful that somehow I found myself standing in my mother’s closet. It was all so wonderful in there; it smelled of her, gentle and sweet, and I ran my hand through her clothes, feeling their textures. I didn’t take anything down, though.

I was drawn to her bureau, and the top drawer held wonderful mysteries—her lingerie. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her wearing any. I mean, I guess that once I got older she covered up more; I’m sure that when I was younger I must have seen it.

The point is, that although I knew I shouldn’t be snooping around in her bureau, it didn’t feel like I was looking at her stuff. Maybe I was just rationalizing … but I didn’t like the sense of being a snoop, so I closed her drawer and left her room.

I was thinking about what I’d done, and what I’d felt, so I made a cup of tea and sat on the couch, thinking. I noticed one of Mom’s ‘women’s magazines’ on the end table, so I idly thumbed through it. I learned about Spring Hairdos, Job Opportunities in Fashion Marketing, and how to exercise my pelvic muscles to Make My Man Wild in Bed.

Okay, that last one really didn’t apply, but I began thinking about the fashion stuff and started to study the ads and photo layouts. On one level I was just thinking about it from a marketing standpoint, like the article talked about, but there was this little voice in my head wondering how I’d look in that top or that skirt. A skirt? Where did that come from?

So, more thinking. Obviously, there was something going on. I guess it was that waiter’s comment that got me thinking about … well, about what if I had been a girl? I don’t know what the situation would have been with my father—maybe it would have been even worse—but the situation with Mom might be better. I mean, we didn’t have any problems at all, and we were pretty close, but if we were mother and daughter …

I suddenly found myself crying. I had this sudden overwhelming urge that I wished, more than anything else in the world, I wished-wished-wished that I could be my mother’s daughter. That I could one day walk down the stairs in that red minidress. That I could look up into my date’s eyes, with my carefully mascaraed eyes and shiny red, glossy lips, and put my arms around his neck and—

I shivered and jerked and felt every kind of emotion—guilt, sorrow, calm, nervous—and what Mom said the Japanese call ‘cry-for-happy’. I cleaned up the house, went to bed and pretty much cried myself to sleep.

Sunday morning I forced it all out of my mind, concentrating on reading the Sunday paper. Mom and Judy got home in the early afternoon, and Judy said she’d take us all out for a light supper. Mom was radiant, absolutely glowing, and Judy slipped and let her true emotions show, and I just laughed and said it was so obvious how they felt about each other; they should just go ahead and kiss. And they did, and I felt myself getting choked up; it was so pretty and so sweet and so wonderful …

To see Mom that happy … and I could tell that Judy really, really likes Mom—maybe even truly loves her.

So they felt great but I felt weird because of my strange Saturday night. I also wasn’t happy with what I was wearing; my polo shirt and Dockers felt, well, dumb, somehow. I felt heavy and clumsy. Mom noticed, but I told her that maybe I had a touch of a bug and for her not to worry. We had a nice dinner and Judy brought us home.

Mom was tired but happy, and I was tired but cranky, but she said, “Alright, out with it.”

Since I’ve always been honest, I told her everything, including looking in her bureau. She said she appreciated my honesty but I should never do it again because it was sneaky, and I quickly agreed.

I washed up and was in bed, just thinking, when Mom came in and sat on the edge of the bed. She told me a little about her weekend, and I reassured her that I thought what she and Judy had was fantastic. She hugged me and said that she loved me most, no matter what, and we should just get some sleep.

11/27

It was a nice Thanksgiving. Quiet, just the three of us. But there was such love shining between Mom and Judy, and I think a little of that spilled over onto me. I felt happy, sitting there, the three of us. Content. Not like last year, which involved too much liquor, a lot of yelling, tears, and broken plates.

The turkey was way tastier this year, too.

12/4

It’s a good thing that Judy likes me. I fell asleep on her again in her office, but she just chuckled and said I’m under such stress that it’s probably one of the rare times I can relax so she doesn’t mind. She said she schedules my appointment extra-long to allow for me falling asleep, and she gets work done—catching up on reports, stuff like that—so I don’t feel so bad about it.

Of course, I still have to do the stuff like pee in a cup, give blood, and get shots; it is a doctor’s appointment, right?

But … stress? I asked her about that and she said that she could tell because she’d gotten to know me so well. She’s a medical doctor and not a psychiatrist, although she has training in that, but she said it’s pretty obvious.

Not to me, I said.

So she told me about how difficult it would be to hate a father at the same time my mind is telling me that I’m supposed to love my father. For children it’s much harder to disconnect the father-love, even when he’s a monster. And I have to say that he fell short of being a monster—he fell short of a lot of things—but was a very unhappy man and got meaner and took it out on Mom and for that I would never forgive him. She talked a bit about how it’s different for women, and for daughters. I buzzed out a little at that, but there’s a lot to what she says.

I guess she’s right—she always has been so far—and even with him dead five months now, I’m still dealing with the fallout from our ‘complicated relationship’—her words—and it’s always in the background of my mind.

Along with school.

And the fact that I don’t seem to feel comfortable anywhere.

12/18

Didn’t write for awhile; I just read back my last entry from a couple of weeks ago and thought I’d kind of left things hanging with that last sentence.

I don’t feel comfortable anywhere. Well, I do with Mom and Judy; in fact, I feel more comfortable and happy with them than ever before. I think it’s two things: First, Judy was right and women deal with stress differently and wives of abusive husbands deal with more of it than the children of abusive fathers do. So I think Mom’s finally ‘come out from under’ the shadow of the years with my father. And she’s happier which makes me happier. And second, she’s also happier because of Judy.

The two of them … it’s probably supposed to be sexy and all, two lesbians, but it doesn’t seem like lesbians, at least like I’ve seen on the internet. I know Mom never thought or felt she was gay, and I’m pretty sure that Judy didn’t have ‘an active lesbian lifestyle’, like I hear about on TV. They’re just two people who met and fell in love. And that’s the point. They’re in love. They’re just people in love who happen to both be females, but it’s the love that’s important.

Mom was pretty wounded when she first met Judy, so I thought—and I think she did, too—that her feelings were just a reaction away from her marriage. Away from men. But by Thanksgiving, she was happier and healthier and so much in love, real love, that it’s not ‘an active lesbian lifestyle’. Just two people in love.

Okay, yes; as much as it creeps me out, I have to admit that they sort of do have the ‘active’ part. After that time I told them it was okay to show their feelings in front of me, they kiss hello and goodbye and sometimes when one gets up from the couch and sometimes the kisses get more involved than just a peck on the cheek. And I have heard some … pretty happy sounds from my mother’s bedroom a few times.

But I’m happy for her, and happy with her and happy when Judy’s with us. And I don’t think she resents me or wishes she had Mom all to herself. I think she genuinely likes me, more and more.

It’s like the flip-side of a year ago, with all the misery and yelling. Now it’s happiness and kissing.

I’ll take that any day!

End of Part One