Dear "Mom",
When I was seven, you locked me in the shed for three weeks because I wet the bed. When I went into labor and begged you to take me to the hospital, you turned up the TV and told me to go die. Now you want to play Super Grandma and be at all the events for my son. You beg for pictures. You ask everyone for my home number and address. You get mad when they turn you down. I want nothing to do with you, and I wish you would accept that.
Sincerely, your "daughter"
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