I could easily mirror their silence, returning coldness with coldness, indifference with indifference. It would be simple, a reflex born of self-preservation. But that's not the person I strive to be, not the essence of who I am.

The specter of past disregard lingers, a haunting reminder of the hollowness that comes with being overlooked, unheard. The echoes of abandonment whisper in the quiet spaces of my heart, a chilling refrain I refuse to inflict on another. I know the sting of isolation, the ache of feeling invisible to those you care about. That knowledge binds me to a different path, a path of reaching out, even when met with silence.

They may misinterpret my persistence, labeling it as neediness or desperation. They may scoff at my concern, dismissing it as...