January 2nd, 2024

I let the phone ring when he calls;

He’s done enough wrong today.

There’s a moment of silence,

Broken by the fourth FaceTime call.

I’m tired of the ringing;

I answer.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks, frustrated. 

That’s it.

I snapped. I shattered.

“No, you don’t get to ask me that.” I laughed—

That’s when you know I’m really upset. 

“What do you mean?! I called you four times and you didn’t answer!” He retorts, annoyed.

“I spent the whole day trying to be there for you. I waited two hours for you because you were late. And then you got here—and then you got here—and you acted like s**t!”

I burst into tears, barely finishing my sentence.

Dad walks in the room, and I still remember the worried expression on his face. 

“Don’t you dare hang up. I’m not done yet,” I exclaim, barely holding it together, broken and shattered. 

I put the phone on mute.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” Dad asks.

“He needs to know that it’s not okay—he needs to know—he can’t do that—again,” I say between sobs.

No, it wasn’t the pretty crying, not the little tears that fall down your face;

Full on sobbing,

Tears and a bloody nose from the mental breakdown.

“I’m proud of you for that,” Dad says as he closes the door.

I hang up on him.

(and no, the '2024' was not a typo, this happened on January 2nd, 2024.)