You don’t know how isolated my life is. You don’t know how long long is to endure, and then endure some more. You don’t know what that feels like. You don’t know how easy you have it. You don’t know what it’s like to be a stranger everywhere you go, and to be cast aside everywhere you go. You don’t know what that does to a person. Then you come at me with your b******* that you learn elsewhere. You may be my blood, but you’re not my soul. You’re just a goddamn self-centered pathetic woman who wouldn’t know what to do when the s*** hit the fan without a husband there to save you. You haven’t lived a lick on your own.