Your parents took me to lunch after church one day, and your father received a rather alarming phone call. You had just been arrested for violating your parole. It didn’t make sense – what could you have done in the time since we left church?

Well, that was the problem. You were at church with me. It turned out you weren’t supposed to be seeing me at all. You thought you found a loophole, that they couldn’t do much if you happened to be in the same building as me. But that day, you held the door open for me as I stepped outside, and being outside together proved you were there with me – your parole officer had been watching from the animal clinic parking lot across the street.

You’re so unbearably selfish. Why would you tell me that meeting with me there was okay? How much misplaced guilt do I have to carry for you?

After that day, I never wanted to step foot in a church again. You really have this power to corrupt everything you touch. It’s not like I had much faith at that point anyway, but you drained any possibility of more.

So now I have to live with the burden that I’m part of the reason you were sent back to prison. But no. I can’t do that any longer. You did this to yourself and you hurt me by doing so. I’m a victim, not an accomplice.

None of this is my fault.

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