I found another letter in that desk, one I wrote to my mom when I was nine, the day after a night I’d made her very angry. I don’t know why she saved it, and I wish she hadn’t. I apologized to her for making a mess. I said I didn’t think she was my maid, I just didn’t think, period. I was stupid and terrible and lazy and she deserved a better child than me, and I would try to be better. It made me cry, reading it.