Then it hit me. It hit at a somatic level, really, the body rather than the brain.
This. This was my childhood.
Except my parents never thought to check on me. They neither looked left nor right. They only saw straight in front of them, and then never further than their own noses. They screamed. They threw barbs, accusations, insults. My mother raised her voice, my father his fists.
I took Baz into the other room. Then I found myself on our worn blue recliner, sobbing into Jack's fur.
We do things differently. That's what Adam tells me time and again. We are not them. I can only have hope.