If I could turn back time, that would be the one day I'd erase from my life.
I still remember it so clearly—the air was unusually warm, and the sunlight poured through the living room windows like golden threads. That was the day I proudly brought him home to meet my father. In my head, it was supposed to be a beautiful, life-changing moment. I thought my father would smile, pat his shoulder, and welcome him into our family.
But reality?
My father sat there, his expression colder than I had ever seen before. His eyes scanned the man I loved, not with curiosity—but with a kind of heavy, silent disapproval.
"Sit down," my father said without warmth, his usual gentle voice replaced by something heavier. I could feel the tension in the air thick enough to cut through.
But back then, I didn't understand. Or maybe…I refused to.
I was the little princess of my family. The daughter who had everything she ever wanted, the one who grew up surrounded by love and protection. If I wanted something, I had it. My grades were excellent. Teachers loved me. Friends admired me. Life had been kind—too kind, maybe.
So, when one of my friends introduced me to him, I thought it was fate. He had that charming smile, the sweet words every young girl dreamed of hearing. "You're the most special woman I've ever met," he told me on our second date. And just like that, I fell.
I fell hard.
Looking back now, I realize I wasn't in love with him. I was in love with the idea of being loved—completely, deeply, without conditions.
I didn't see the little red flags. Or maybe I saw them, but I told myself every love story had its ups and downs. Isn't that what the movies say? That true love requires patience and sacrifice?
I ignored my father's cold eyes that day. I brushed aside his hesitant words.
At that time, I didn't know…
That was the day I opened the door to my darkest years.
The day my nightmare quietly began—wrapped in the illusion of a perfect romance.