My grandma spent $30,000 to join our family’s Europe trip. But at the airport, my dad said, ‘I forgot your ticket—just go home.’ The way everyone avoided her eyes told me it wasn’t an accident. I stayed with her. Three weeks later, my parents came back—and the whole family froze, like they were holding their breath, when they saw me standing beside a man. Because…

My mother, Janelle, was an accountant who lived inside spreadsheets and year-end reports, coming home drained but still opening her laptop again at the kitchen counter under the fluorescent light.

We weren’t poor. We lived in a suburban ranch-style house with vinyl siding, a two-car driveway, and a little American flag clipped to the mailbox. The yard was neat, the mortgage was paid on time, and the pantry always had cereal and coffee.

But the house never felt warm.

I don’t doubt that my parents loved each other. I don’t even doubt they loved me, in whatever way they understood love. But that love rarely made it to the surface.