Miles from Nowhere

Miles from Nowhere by Nami Mun 

" 'I'm sorry about your mother,' he whispered. I felt a tiny collapsing in my chest and it took me a moment to correctly identify the pang, not as grief, but as jealousy. I hadn't loved my mother the way he had loved his wife. I had left her when she needed me most, and in the end, she died, in a car, completely alone with nothing but the sound of metal crushing her. I couldn't grieve for her, not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't deserve to. I looked at Mr. McCommon, his hands smother his face, his chest flinching. He had no idea that grief was a reward. That it only came to those who were loyal, to those who loved more than they were capable of. He had a garage, full of her belongings, and all I had was my guilt. It took on its own shape and smell and nestled in the pit of my body, and it would sleep and play and walk with me for decades to come."