There were moments that made this imbalance painfully clear. I’ll never forget hearing my father proudly talk about Deacon’s “bright future” while I was coming home from a long shift,
ggling nursing school and two jobs. Still, I stayed focused, driven by something deeper than recognition.
Through it all, there was one person who saw me clearly—my grandmother, Esme. She encouraged me in quiet, consistent ways: handwritten notes, small gifts, kind voicemails that always seemed to arrive when I needed them most. “You’re stronger than you think, Maribel,” she’d say. Her words became a quiet lifeline.
