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Around us, white lights twinkled from the branches of thick heritage oaks.
Other circular tables surrounded ours, wine glasses winking in the pass of headlights.
” In the silence that followed, I heard myself the way she must have heard me: hysterical. My stepdaughter was fourteen the way I had never been fourteen. She was more beautiful, her body more womanly, than any fourteen-year-old has the maturity to handle.Once, she and I went to dinner and the waitress brought her the glass of wine I’d ordered.She’d taken drugs I hadn’t touched, had bounced from the triad of her mother, her aunt, and her grandmother throughout her childhood. I sighed, lightheaded again with how quickly my anger could fade.Even now, the edges of my vision blur when I remember it.The panic, the terror, the maternal protectiveness that unfurled like wings, so suddenly and completely that I couldn’t breathe. I texted her back, called, scrambled into clothing (it was morning and I worked from home), called her father, called the school.
Yet another dude had created yet another fake profile account for the porn star I used to be.