Bully Me
I cried a lot this weekend.
“I’m making an omelet with veggies. It’s good for you, and has protein. Sit, and eat it” I do as i'm told, sitting beside mama.
“So should we kick his ass, or invite him to dinner?” Mom asks, sliding a plate to each mama and I.
“I don’t know” I murmured, taking a bit. It’s so good, as always. Mom makes such good food, always. “The bond is there, but it’s faint. It’s not how it’s described to us. It’s like it's broken or something.”