Astrid

The past week was miserable. Ever since the conversation with my dad, I could hardly stand to be in the packhouse. I wanted nothing more than to get out of Bridgewater and do my best to pretend it didn’t exist.

I didn’t belong here. I never had and the fact that I had allowed myself to be guilted into coming back filled me with shame. I thought that I knew better. It was completely predictable that dad would blame me the second things got ...