regret

There were months at a time when Tess woke on the hour every hour. Roused sometimes by those who had hurt her. But more often by those she had hurt.

By her middle sister Karin—now married and pregnant and beautiful—at age five, when Tess was eight and they’d slept side-by-side. When, most nights, Karin would ask Tess to cuddle, to hold her close.

And Tess said yes only some of the time.

And now, nearing the end of her twenties and still awoken by a five-year-old’s question, Tess wished she had said yes always.