Curator of My Own Life

ment washed over me, eager to see my Uncle Julian

he scent of turpentine, the way h

with an unsettling silence inst

s visibly pregnant stomach, his head bent, whispering

him, crashed to the marble floor, but t

ed, congratulating them both, while Julian stared, expect

where I' d screamed, pleaded, and ultimately lost everything

ake the same mistake. This time, I chose to let go