At school, teachers dismissed her concerns or labeled her as a troublemaker when she spoke up.
At home, I tried to be her support, but my exhaustion and financial limitations often left her dealing with things alone.
Meanwhile, others—be it her peers or some adults—acted with an authority that left her feeling small and unheard.
Things had escalated quietly over the past few weeks.
First, I noticed her withdrawing from phone calls and messages (early March).
Then came her sudden decline in school performance and her nighttime fears (mid-March).
A faint bruise I nearly missed on her arm raised my alarm (late March).
The whispered conversations with close friends growing more frantic, and her refusal to go alone to certain places (early April).
Each step built a quiet, invisible pressure, piling up behind closed doors.
Right now, I’m bracing for a meeting with the school counselor scheduled for tomorrow afternoon.
I’ve been putting it off, worried about what might come out and what we’ll have to face.
I’m not ready for the confrontation, the explanations, or the potential fallout, but I know I can’t avoid it much longer.
The note and that silent urgency grip me like a warning—something’s coming, and it won’t be easy.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
