her own love of music, her own dreams beyond anything that didn’t involve a medal, her own life.
And her father had paid this back by having an affair with this Nadia person and leaving her mother and he still got terse with her.
After all that. Screw him. Or at least this version of him.
As she switched to freestyle she realised it wasn’t her fault
that her parents had never been able to love her the way parents were meant to: without condition.
It wasn’t her fault her mother focused on her every flaw, starting with the asymmetry of her ears. No. It went back even earlier than that.
The first problem had been that Nora had dared, somehow, to arrive into existence at a time when her parents’ marriage was relatively fragile.
Her mother fell into depression and her father turned to tumblers of single malt.
She did thirty more lengths, and her mind calmed and she started to feel free, just her and the water.
But when she eventually got out of the pool and went back to her room
she dressed in the only clean clothes in her hotel room (smart navy trouser suit) and stared at the inside of her suitcase.
She felt the profound loneliness emanating from it. There was a copy of her own book.
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