That was the exact moment when everything changed.
I grew up believing that families were broken by screaming
I always thought that families broke up loudly: slamming doors, arguing, neighbors listening behind walls. I never imagined that they could also break in silence, comment by comment, fake smile after fake smile.
My mom, Ana, died when I was 15. Cancer. Fast. Relentless. One summer he complained of a slight pain; In the winter I would stand in front of his grave with borrowed shoes that were tight on me, while people told me how “strong” I was.
I hated that word.
Being strong meant you didn’t have permission to break down.
Patricia’s arrival
Less than a year later, my father introduced us to Patricia. He was not cruel. That was the problem.
He smiled too much. He spoke softly. He touched my arm as if we were already intimate. He would bring food to the neighbors, come to dinners, and everyone would say how lucky my father was to have found happiness again.
I was 17 years old. Big enough to understand. Young enough to keep quiet.
