I'm sorry.
I don't know why every time you ask me a question I feel like
you're questioning me.
I'm sorry.
I don't know who told me that the strong are always right,
but I know I've never lost a fight,
even when I was wrong.
I'm sorry
for never letting go enough to let you take control,
a tug of war with our children as rope.
Aren't we supposed to be pulling on the same team?
I'm sorry,
for believing that Mother Knows Best was a mantra,
but Father Knows Best was a joke.
Dear husband,
I'm sorry.
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