He flinched as if I’d struck him. “Don’t bring her into this, Sophie,” he said, his voice low and taut like a wire about to snap.
“But she’s always part of it, even if you don’t want to talk about her,” I insisted. My voice wavered but I pushed on. “She believed in me. She believed in you too, you know?”
His eyes finally met mine, and I saw a flicker of something—guilt, pain, regret? It was hard to tell. His gaze softened but only for a moment before he looked away again, his face closing like a book slammed shut.
“Can’t change the past. Can’t fix what’s broken,” he muttered, almost to himself.
I sighed, my need for closure wrestling with the reality of my father’s stubborn refusal to face his own demons. I realized then that his silence wasn’t just toward me—it was his shield, his denial of the chaos inside him. The trophy, my success, my happiness—all were reminders of what he’d lost, what we’d both lost when Mom died.
“Maybe,” I said softly, “maybe we can’t fix everything. But we can try to understand it. Together.”
He looked at me again, the hardness in his eyes melting just a little. “You’re a good kid, Soph.”
“That’s because of you and Mom,” I replied, my voice almost a whisper. “I just wish you could see that.”
He nodded but didn’t respond, the silence wrapping around us once more. I rose from the table, leaving him to his thoughts, and retreated to my room. As I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, I felt a strange mix of emotions—hurt, frustration, but also a glimmer of hope. Maybe this was the beginning of a conversation, a slow thaw that would take time and patience.
The next morning, I found a small piece of the shattered trophy on my bedside table. It was just a fragment, but it felt like an olive branch, a wordless acknowledgment that my father had heard me, even if he couldn’t yet find the words to say so.
And so, we began to build from the silence, piece by piece, conversation by conversation, trying to mend what was broken with understanding, with forgiveness—not just for each other but for ourselves.