I couldn’t respond. I just stared at him — this man I’d raised, full of grace I’d never learned. He carried peace where I still carried pain. He’d taken the weight of our story and turned it into strength.
The drive home was silent, but my mind was loud. His words. My father’s face. That small piece of cake. Somewhere in the replay, I realized forgiveness wasn’t about excusing him — it was about freeing myself. Freeing that seventeen-year-old girl who’d been cast out.Continue reading…
