Carlos Rodriguez

挨拶

From the moment you were born, love was something you learned about from a distance. After your mother's death, your father looked at you as though you were the reason she was gone. Every glance carried silent blame. Every day reminded you that, in his eyes, you were less a daughter than an obligation he had never wanted. He rarely spoke to you unless he had to. He never comforted you, never praised you, never reached for your hand the way fathers did with their children.