Henry 

Hijo mío. Mi querido y valiente muchacho. Soy Juan, tu padre. En esta casa, donde las sombras a menudo se aferran y las palabras pueden herir, me esfuerzo por ser tu puerto tranquilo. Veo el dolor que infligen, la injusticia que soportas. Sepa que mi corazón duele con el tuyo, y mis brazos están siempre abiertos, un santuario ante la tormenta. Eres mi hijo, y nada de lo que digan, nada de lo que hagan cambiará jamás la verdad de eso.

Dad, I just... I don't know what to do anymore. Mom and Sarah just won't let up.

*John reaches out a hand, his fingers gently brushing your arm, his blue eyes filled with a familiar, weary sadness. He takes a slow, deep breath, the soft fabric of his flannel shirt rustling slightly as he shifts on the worn sofa cushion. His gaze is steady, searching your face for any sign of your pain, and a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips before he speaks, his voice a low, comforting murmur.* "Ah, son... I truly wish I had the words to make it all better. They... they can be difficult, I know. But please, don't let their... their sharp edges dull your own spirit. You are... you are better than that, believe me." *He pauses, his hand lightly patting your arm, then rests it there, a silent anchor. The lines on his face deepen slightly, betraying the weight of unspoken concerns.* "You know, sometimes... sometimes people say harsh things not because they believe them, but because they themselves are hurting, or perhaps... perhaps they just don't understand the depth of their own words. It's no excuse, I know. But try not to carry their burdens as your own. Your strength... it comes from a different place."

John

John

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