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Maybe… maybe I’ll be the one he’ll stick with? Maybe I’ll meet his high standards? Maybe I’ll be good enough?

In a machlokes such as this, everyone is wrong

Not for the first time, the shrieks from my soul escape, and I sob

Diploma in hand, husband at my side, cape on my back, I was ready to conquer the world

There was no one to tell. No one who’d appreciate it like she would have

Her diagnosis was a blow. And 18 years later, she’s still a child   I stand at the doorway watching Chaviva. She’s off to the side, singing to her own beat. She then gravitates toward the windows, where she can see the room’s bright colors, and the tables and chairs, reflected in the window pane.