this room.”

My mother’s expression hardened.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

I picked up the last present.

Then I stood, holding Lily against my shoulder.

“All I wanted was for you to treat my daughter with kindness.”

“I do treat her with kindness!”

“Then why would you say those things about her?”

“Because someone needs to be realistic! You’re always so sensitive.”

I looked at her for a long moment.

There it was again.

The same accusation I had heard since childhood.

Sensitive.

Dramatic.

Difficult.

Every time I objected to being hurt,