Six months ago, I had my daughter. She wasn’t planned, but I chose to keep her. My family didn’t take it well—especially my dad. He didn’t yell when I told him. He just went quiet. And that silence hurt more than any argument.

One night at dinner, my baby started fussing. My dad muttered under his breath, “Guess that’s what happens when you keep an accident.”I left the table in tears.Later, my mom called, saying he wanted to apologize but didn’t know how. I sat there, numb, still holding onto the pain of his words.Part of me wanted to shut him out for good. But another part remembered how he looked at my daughter when he thought no one was watching—softness in his eyes he never said out loud.I didn’t know if I should forgive him.But I knew one thing: I would protect my peace and my daughter, even if that meant setting boundaries. Maybe, with time, love would soften what words once shattered.