first drink
by: emily alber
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When my parents divorced, old wounds of rejection and abandonment rushed back in. It confirmed what I had always suspected— love could leave at any moment. The fear didn’t come from nowhere, but a time I couldn’t remember. My adoption was never discussed at home and I still don’t understand why. I learned early how to fill silence with fantasy— wondering where I came from and who I looked like. I had questions, but not the language to ask them. The silence itself became the answer— one that told me I didn’t belong.
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