I couldn’t control any of that.
For the first time, I began to understand how much energy I had wasted trying.
The following weeks were difficult.
My father barely spoke to me. When we crossed paths in the hallway, he nodded stiffly and continued walking.
My mother became quieter.
The excitement surrounding my possible marriage disappeared, leaving behind uncomfortable questions that nobody wanted to ask.
I stopped going out at night.
Not because I had suddenly become frightened of the world again, but because I needed to understand why I had been living two different lives in the first place.
I began spending more time alone.
I wrote in a notebook. I thought about my choices, my faith, my family, and the person I wanted to become.
I stopped telling myself that everything I had done was either completely right or completely wrong.
Some decisions had brought me happiness. Others had left me feeling empty.
