His criticism was limited to the artwork and his expectations.”“But he was mean. He made Art feel bad. Can’t you see?”“The role of a profess...r is to evaluate the student’s work. He did that. Ask Annette what I said about her manuscript,” Dad said.“You mean about it being predictable, juvenile, and poorly edited?” Annette said. I realized for the first time that my lover wasn’t having an easy time of it either. How could my own father say things like that?“That’s terrible,” my sister pounced. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll call you back.”“Okay,” I said, unconvinced. “Talk soon.”Sophie hung up the call, and fell forward on the mat, her body racked by deep sobs.“I fucking love Doc,” she moaned, as if it was the height of demonic possession to express such a though.She cried for 10 minutes, soaking the exercise mat, and pulling up the pillow, her tears mixing with her juices.“I am a married woman,” she sobbed out loud. “I can’t love Doc, I am not allowed.”‘I am such a slut,’ she thought. ‘Ig. More

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