“I’d been at the bar all night, ever since she left. I’d sat there at the very last bar stool, staring at my hands, fighting the urge to call her phone, knowing she wouldn’t answer – knowing I wouldn’t have the right words to say even if she did. I never had the right words. My voice had been stolen by an abusive father before I hit middle school, and I’d struggled my entire life trying to find it again.”