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“I lowered my hands and stared at the tiny horse, considering his question. I couldn’t think of anyone I’d ever felt sorry for. There were plenty of kids I envied. There were others I achingly admired, but that might simply be another form of jealousy. Then there were those I feared, dreaded. And the worst of them, the man who shamed me. I could see my father’s angry features looming over my mother. I could clearly picture her beside him in his truck, cowering against the door while he belittled and assaulted her. I guess I did know someone I felt sorry for.” — Richelle E. Goodrich

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I lowered my hands and stared at the tiny horse, considering his question. I couldn’t think of anyone I’d ever felt sorry for. There were plenty of kids I envied. There were others I achingly admired, but that might simply be another form of jealousy. Then there were those I feared, dreaded. And the worst of them, the man who shamed me. I could see my father’s angry features looming over my mother. I could clearly picture her beside him in his truck, cowering against the door while he belittled and assaulted her. I guess I did know someone I felt sorry for.
— Richelle E. Goodrich