Ashley Winstead

When I was younger, I would’ve given anything to have a conversation with him, have him take interest in me. But by now, through all our ups and downs, it just felt wrong, like an imposter living inside my dad’s skin.

Of course. Father-daughter time, that mysterious thing.

keeping my gaze trained on my feet, like I was eight years old again and embarrassed to exist.

The real you—whoever she is—will get what she wants in the end

That was who we were going to be forever, him and me—never close, never forgiven, never redeemed.

The ink on the story of my dad and me was dry. The book was shut.

I think I hate my father, too.

want to look back in ten years and know I did everything right.” No more second place, no more punching down.

“Ten years from now, we’re going to be on top of the world together. You and me, looking down on everyone else, laughing and laughing.”

Wanting is dangerous. The less you want, the safer you’ll be.