
There Is A Way Out — DIG
The hospital cafeteria was nearly silent, except for the low murmur of families talking. A few feet away, he sat, silent, his gaze fixed on me, heavy with judgment. It felt like he resented being there with me, though you wouldn’t notice it at first—he was good at hiding it. That’s the last memory I have of my supposed father: his spite for me. The pale-gray walls and barred windows suffocated me that night, stripping away the innocent little boy I was. Because all I wanted to say was, “I hate y...