When I was twelve, my father vanished from our lives without a single explanation. No note on the table, no word to my mother, nothing to soften the confusion that followed. One morning he was in the kitchen, humming the same tune he always hummed while flipping pancakes, and the next day his truck was simply gone.
People told me I would grow out of the hurt. They said I would understand more when I was older. But childhood confusion has a way of following you, especially when it’s wrapped in silence. I learned to move forward, but the unanswered questions never left.
