He shook his head, unable to respond.
I felt my anger envelope me once again.

“But I’m your daughter!” I moaned.

“You tell me all the time that you’re supposed to trust your loved ones and tell them things.

But I guess you don’t love me, then.
After all, I wasn’t your real daughter to begin with, and I still am not now, either,”
I complained.

“Why do you have to overthink things so much?”

my father asked, the tired firmness evident in his voice.

“Why can’t you be happy and enjoy life and not let so many things pester you?
They’ll destroy you if you dwell on them too much.”

He paused for a moment.

“Why can’t you be in tune with the world around you more often?”

he asked, somewhat morosely.

That definetely hit a nerve inside of me,

because then I said the words that I would
regret for a long time,
their cold sharpness echoeing inside of me for months to come.