When I was little, I hated my mom. In my mind, she was weak and fragile. Just a shadow behind the great, brave leader my father was. I have only one memory of her speaking up. It was the only time she raised her voice at my father.
I was maybe five or six and I was still getting used to my father's rules to hide that I'm a girl. That period is still foggy in my mind since I always felt so confused. But I was an obedient child so I always listened.
One day I found a baby squirrel that fell from its nest. It was small but cute so I asked my mother if I can take care of it. She said yes and helped me to build a small crib for it with warm towels. I named it Patrick, like Spongebob's friend. I loved taking care of it and I used to hold it in my arm and sing lullabies to it.
My father wasn'
