I had shared the news that I was pregnant. Rather than supporting one another during that tough time, we ended up fighting fiercely. The words my father spoke still echo in my mind:
“Danielle, if you leave with that boy, don’t even think about coming back!” “You’re an adult now—handle it on your own.”
And that was it. My mother stood behind him, her arms crossed over her chest, her lips pressed into a thin line. I’ll always remember the way her eyes sparkled, how she looked at me, almost pleading for me to understand. Yet, she remained silent, never attempting to step in and resolve things. It felt as if she had completely abandoned any sense of parental empathy in one last, chilling act.
I can’t fully hold it against them; our relationship had been
