Viewpoint
She’s watching me with her invisible eyes, itching to hurt, and no one really offers up an argument. Because, of course, they feel the same bitterness, but don’t have the mystical werewithal to act on their spite.
Nevertheless, the fact remains-
I saw her.
Every day, I saw her drab forlorn limp self and I knew that she was my reflection. She was all I could ever be, no matter how much I covered it up.
“Cordelia, can’t you even use a curling iron? You look dreadful.”
Marcy’s mother should have been able to see her, save her.
Mothers should see.