Untitled Fiction - Abby's story

I asked my mother again when I was 13.
“Why do you keep asking me this? It was the 60’s. Everyone did weird stuff in the 60’s. I wasn’t a slut. I ran away from home to protest the war. I came back.”
“But you have to remember something more specific about what happened.”
“Listen, Sweetie, Zach, we were camping in the Rockville Creek Park. We had marched through Washington D.C. outside the White House. We didn’t have any money and we didn’t have much food, but someone had a little pot. There were a lot of people. I didn’t know about getting high. I was feeling lonely and hungry.”
“Was that the night it happened?”
“Why do you persecute me this way? Do you know how it makes me feel that I conceived you and I can’t tell you the facts? I don’t know the facts. I love you. I came home and I had you and I love you and I have stayed here to take care of you and did I tell you I love you?”