Within an hour, my phone vibrated incessantly with calls and texts. At first, I ignored them, savoring the new silence of my own space—a quiet that wasn’t interrupted by passive-aggressive comments or the clatter of my father’s expectations. I could almost hear his voice in my head, rising in disbelief as he realized the implications of my message.
After a while, curiosity got the better of me. I glanced at my phone, seeing a string of missed calls from my dad and a few messages from Denise. Each text was a variation on a theme: disbelief, shock, and an underlying plea for me to reconsider. But it was Denise’s final message that made me pause: “Madison, this isn’t like you. Can we talk?”It was true; this wasn’t something I would have done a year ago. But a year ago, I didn’t have the self-confidence or the foresight to plan my escape. I had spent too long underestimating my worth, assuming I had to earn my place in the family with a paycheck. And now, the irony was that my father, who had always touted independence, was the one suddenly dependent on me.
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