The night of the meeting finally arrives.
We’re all gathered in the living room, the air thick with tension.
My mother sits quietly, her expression unreadable.
My father stands nearby, his face a mask of concern.
I’m seated between them, the pressure of the moment pressing in.
My boyfriend is absent, his silence a looming presence.
The room feels stifling, the weight of unasked questions hanging over us.
No one seems willing to break the silence.
Finally, my father clears his throat, his voice breaking the stillness.
“We need to understand what happened,” he says, his words careful.
