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Grow
Even though he’s not my son, I will love him. Even if he hates me, he will remain the center of my garden. Though water he rejected tried to drown me, though a gnarl of thorns from his roots hug around my neck, he will be my child, and I will be his defense. Even if I wither, I have insight about the future, the boy that I have carried will grow in love instead of this hateful mess. As much as I want to protect him, as much as I scream and I cry, I know that in the end he will live instead of die.
