I walked Anderson out to the parking lot, standing there until he drove off. Once he was out of sight, I turned back toward the house, hoping to retreat to my room in peace. But as I entered the living room, I found Mother standing by the stairs, as if waiting for me. After everything that had happened, I wasn't in the mood to talk. What she did earlier was uncalled-for. Father has done so much for me, more than I could ever ask for. Yet, she had the nerve to question his role in my life, asking what he had really done for me. "Let’s talk for a few minutes." She said, her voice softer than usual. I said nothing and walked past her. She’s my mother, she should know me better than anyone. She should remember the life I have had, especially with my birth father, who never showed me any care or kindness. All he ever did was hurl insults, making me feel worthless. When I was six, I came home from school one day, and Mother told me he had died. That was the last I ever heard of him. Moth
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