“Unveiling Resilience: How Monika Dutt’s ‘My Rock’ Transforms Heartbreak into Strength”
You wobble through the words that mean I love you, in the combination of languages we use, French and Bengali, and a tiny bit of Mi’kmaw.
“Je t’aime, balo bashi, kesalul,” I reply. Usually, when we say that in the evenings, I am lying beside you, putting you to bed. At almost twelve, I don’t know how long you will cuddle goodnight for, but I am holding on to this ritual as long as you let me. Tonight, we say it across an endless phone line.
I press the button to hang up. The portal is closed, and you are pulled back into your lonely world. Your smile usually lights up a room. You are so docile now. I wonder if you are thinking about running away down the long, empty road that leads to the camp.
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