The Wrong Child Hated Me
Language: en
My daughter turned seven this year, and she’s already a master of psychological warfare. She claims to have severe, debilitating germophobia—but only when it comes to me. To keep me out of her room, she’s used every weapon in a child’s arsenal: hunger strikes, temper tantrums that left her breathless, and even the terrifying threat of throwing herself from our twenty-sixth-floor balcony. I’ve spent years living like a ghost in my own home. I shower three times a day. I change my clothes every few hours. I’ve scrubbed my hands with such surgical intensity that the skin is peeling away in…