What Happened Next
My parents called. Texted. Emailed.
I didn’t respond.
Julian tried to apologize. “I didn’t know. I didn’t realize—”
“You didn’t ask,” I said. “That’s the problem.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not sorry you lied. You’re sorry you got caught.”
I hung up.
Three weeks later, I got a letter from my father.
Elena,
I made a mistake. I didn’t see what you’d become. I didn’t give you credit.
Can we talk?
I thought about responding. About giving him a chance.
Then I remembered sitting across from him at eighteen, holding my acceptance letter, and hearing: There’s no upside.
I filed the letter away.
Not as forgiveness. As evidence.
Because sometimes, the best response is moving forward without them.
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