As Roxanne entered the room, her reproachful words hit me like a slap in the face. "Oprah, why didn't you answer your phone? You made me so worried," she scolded, her tone laced with concern.
With a mouthful of food, I mumbled a half-hearted response, "Do you still worry about me?"
Her reaction was immediate, sitting beside me and insisting, "What kind of question is that? You're my daughter. I would be concerned if I didn't reach you on the phone."
Her words stung, a reminder of the fragile bond between us. I nodded in acknowledgment, but inside, I couldn't shake the feeling of resentment that lingered beneath the surface.
Trying to distract myself, I focused on my soup, but Roxanne's next question pierced through my attempt at indifference. "Did you argue with your brother yesterday?
