During one dinner, when he mentioned it, my mother gave a small, uncomfortable laugh.
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“I’m sorry,” she said.
Then my father followed with a smirk.
“But I think we all know why your parents took you to the orphanage.”
I froze.
“Are you serious right now?” I snapped.
“It’s just a joke, Jen!” my father replied. “Jordan doesn’t mind, do you? A little guy like you must—”
“Stop. Just stop.”
My chest was shaking. If he had finished that sentence, I honestly think I would have flipped the table.
My mother muttered that I was being “too sensitive.”
That was the moment something inside me changed. I understood then: they would never accept him. To them, he would always be something to tolerate — or mock.
Over time, I pulled away from them.
Fewer calls. Fewer visits. Every interaction came with another insult disguised as humor, another subtle humiliation they pretended was harmless.
