I Became My Father's First Love
Language: en
The ninety-ninth time my mother tried to run away from my father, she didn't pack a suitcase. She simply walked out to the balcony of our seventeenth-floor apartment, climbed over the railing, and let go. But down on the street, as the sirens wailed, the neighbors only wept for my father. "Such a tragedy," they whispered, patting his trembling shoulders as he squeezed out a few performative tears. "He is such a steady, respectable man. What a shame he was cursed with such a dark, neurotic, crazy wife." None of them knew the girl she had been before she met him. Before the rings and the…