Broken Pieces

I cried.

Not just with tears—but with sound, with trembling, with my whole body. The kind of crying that strips you bare and leaves you raw.

My father pulled me into him, his arms strong and warm, wrapping me in a quiet shield. He didn’t say anything. He just held me, patted my back, and whispered things I couldn’t even hear through the roaring in my chest. The more he tried to soothe me, the more