and a box of tissues no one touched.
They asked if anyone wanted to read.
I had a page in my bag.
I didn’t intend to volunteer.
But my hand went in and pulled it out.
I read the toast story.
The squares.
The triangles.
The screaming.
When I finished, the room was silent.
An older woman across the circle, someone who had lost her son, reached over and placed her hand on my wrist.
She said nothing.
That was the first time my truth landed in front of strangers
