“I can’t believe you walked into my house and tried to remove me from my own bedroom,” I shot back.
Tyler scoffed loudly. “Nobody’s removing you. You’re being dramatic.”
That word — dramatic — had followed me my entire life. When I cried because Tyler smashed my laptop in high school, I was dramatic. When he stole money from my purse in college, I was dramatic. When I refused to co-sign his car loan three years ago, suddenly I was cruel and dramatic.
Tyler was always “having a hard time.” I was always “overreacting.”
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