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The school year was coming to an end and I was busying myself with spring sports. I was doing track and field, distance events like the 1,500-meter run. I also tried my hand at pole vaulting, which did not go well. I had to quit vaulting before I really hurt myself. One particularly grueling Friday at practice, I noticed Mrs. B. in the bleachers watching. Faculty often wandered out to watch teams practice or play, but Mrs. B was rarely among them. She lingered when the practice was over, so I went over to say hi. She seemed genuinely happy to see me, even though she had been quite aloof in class or in the hallway.

Maybe you and I do deserve to suffer for our wrongdoing. If that’s so, then it means that when things get painful, when things get difficult, we don’t have the luxury of quitting. We don’t get to end our lives to escape what we did. Whatever form the pain takes, we bear it, we endure it, we welcome it, all while we try to make this world a place where people like us, like how we used to be, have no place, and the people who would be hurt can instead live in peace. The next time you encounter an obstacle you cannot overcome, when you just want to curl up into a ball and quit on the world, remind yourself that you don’t deserve the peace of surrender. You have to keep working, to keep fighting, to keep suffering, until the day when you’ve fully repented.

“Hi, Mom,” I giggled, stepping inside and collecting a brief kiss from Daddy's lips and a tight squeeze of my pert little ass as I passed by. “Daddy and I really struggled about how we were going to tell you this...” I said, flouncing eagerly up onto the bed with her, crawling up until my knees could just barely fit, squeezed close together between her spread thighs. I leaned down, giving her a firm kiss on the lips that she was far too stunned to return. “In the end, we decided it would be best to just rip the band-aid off quick. You and I are going to be sharing Daddy, from here on out!”