This is an excerpt from an essay I wrote in college. It seems appropriate considering recent events.

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For years I have tried to imagine a scenario where I forgave you. I couldn’t think of one. And now, hearing you speak, I realize I was right, there is nothing you can say that will make any difference to me.
You can’t say you’re sorry. That would be too little too late. You can’t promise to make it up and do a better job in the future. I don’t think there will be a future. You can’t say anything, because I don’t believe you and I don’t care.
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I remember the sweater you got me for my birthday when I was about eight. It was purple and had flowers across the chest, and it was beautiful. I was so proud of it, and I wore it all the time. I showed everyone the wonderful sweater you had given me for my birthday, because you loved me and you weren’t poor. I didn’t know why Mom was so upset about the sweater. I didn’t know then that you deducted the cost of my birthday “gift” and the other things you bought us from the child support you so seldom paid. About that same time, I realized why we were poor and I couldn’t have the things I wanted that my friends had.
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