The room went silent. He looked at her, thinking it was just something she heard somewhere. But she kept staring at him, waiting. Then she said it again, quieter this time. “You don’t talk to her anymore… you don’t sit with her… you don’t laugh like before.” His chest tightened. He wanted to deny it. Say everything was fine. But the truth was… she wasn’t wrong. Somewhere along the way, things changed. No big fight. No dramatic moment. Just distance. Routine. Silence replacing everything they used to have. He looked over at his wife. She didn’t say anything. She just looked down. And in that moment, he realized something that hit harder than anything his daughter said—she didn’t ask that question because she didn’t understand… she asked because she already did.
