His Penance, My Freedom

ears,

een tw

vast living room where I knelt on ma

mother' s death, this had

ief into his truth: I' d hidden h

, a differ

, used my perfume,

elcome, se

e my father was sick, his trea

y husband, was

for my father on his deathbed

rves for having a

al called: My f

leaving a note, not

, begging for a l

rped to his current paramo

ld sha

ster who sav

inside m

endured, tha

d, rising o

a divorc

to his mistress, then commanded me

mocki

iatin

est wounds as

single thought crystallise

d eras

errifying pain and a warm, wet sensation,

nd our unborn child, but he had