I often found myself replaying that moment in my mind, dissecting every second, trying to understand his actions. Was it jealousy? Anger? Disappointment in a life that hadn’t gone as planned? The questions circled like vultures, picking apart my thoughts until I was left with nothing but bare bones.

But, as the days turned into weeks, a small part of me began to heal. I found solace in the letters and calls from friends who had witnessed that painful moment, their words of support wrapping around me like a warm embrace. Teachers reached out, offering encouragement and reminding me of the strength they saw in me. Slowly, I began to realize that my worth was not tied to anyone’s approval—not even my father’s.