As we were leaving, she shouted over my shoulder, "Sir, stop smoking! You'll get lung cancer!"
I quickened my pace, terrified that the man might come after us.
What was it like for a socially anxious mother to have an overly outgoing daughter?
I constantly lived in fear.
And I always prepared with three lines—
"Whose child is this?
"I don't know her at all.
"You can't hit me if you hit her."
"Mommy, why aren't we eating anymore?" Rebecca asked innocently, her little pigtails bobbing.
She was too cute for me to be angry, so I tried to reason with her. "That man is very strong! Mommy is afraid of getting hit."
"Then we can call the police."
"By the time the police arrive, Mommy will already be injured!"
"Then we can call an ambulance!"
"And if I get killed?"
"I know this one! TV shows say to contact the crematorium and the insurance company! You named me as the beneficiary!"
I was at a loss for words.
I said, "Just stop talking."
How did someone as socially anxious as me, paired with someone as reserved and stoic as Dylan, end up with such a clever, outgoing chatterbox?
Arriving at Prosperity Tower, bustling with people, I set Rebecca down and held her little hand tightly.