I thought that we were doing well. I actually thought that we were close. We'd talk about the shop and plans, The things that mattered most. We bought property together, We were building something new. We'd end a call with “Love you,” I meant it. And I thought you meant it too. I thought after all these years We finally felt like family. I had no idea What you apparently thought of me. Then a simple request started something I could never have foreseen. A simple thirty second video Became something else entirely. Suddenly I heard comparisons, Things I'd never heard before. Suddenly I was someone Trying to own your lives and more. And I remember sitting there stunned, Wondering, Where did this come from? Why didn't you tell me? If I'd hurt you, why not say? If you'd carried something all those years, Why hide it every day? If I spoke badly of your mother, Tell me when. Tell me what I said. If I twisted something that you told me, Tell me how you heard it instead. If you thought I treated your Dad badly, If you thought my heart was wrong— Why didn't you tell me Before the avalanche came down? Because I didn't see it coming. There were no warning signs I knew. No list of old offenses, No “We need to talk with you.” No one said, “This thing you do hurts me.” No one said, “Please understand.” No one gave me something I could answer, Something I could change if I can. Instead we kept on living, Talking, planning, saying “Love you.” While somewhere there were grievances I never even knew. Then your father stopped the flow of money. And suddenly the mountain moved. One accusation followed another, Each one something strangely new. Mean things about your mother. How I treated Dad. Words I'd twisted. Things I'd demanded. Things I didn't even know You thought I'd done. It felt like seventeen years Came crashing down at once. And I was standing underneath an avalanche Without knowing there'd been snow. Why didn't you tell me? That's the question underneath. Not why didn't you forgive me— Why didn't you ever speak? You didn't have to ask my story If you already knew your own. But couldn't you at least have told me What I'd supposedly done? Give me something I could answer. Give me something I could see. If you wanted something different, Why didn't you tell me? Maybe some of it was recent. Maybe some had simmered years. Maybe stories grew in conversations I was never there to hear. Maybe one hurt joined another Until everything looked changed. I don't know. That's the point. Nobody ever told me There was anything to explain. And that's what makes the avalanche So difficult to understand: I thought I stood on solid ground. You knew there was a mountain overhead Just waiting to come down. If I said something that hurt you— You could have told me. If a story about your mother Sounded cruel when I thought it sweet— You could have told me. If I crossed a line— You could have told me. If something I said landed differently Than anything I meant— You could have told me. Give me the chance to say, “I didn't mean it that way.” Or, “You're right. I'm sorry. I will change.” Or even, “No. That didn't happen. And I can't apologize For something I didn't do.” But give me something. Because silence gives me Nothing to repair. That's what I still can't understand. There were dinners, games and phone calls, Plans and projects, things we'd bought. There was laughter and “I love you,” We were family—or so I thought. How could all of that be happening While you saw me another way? Was I missing something obvious? Were you hiding the truth every day? How could I know we had a problem When everything looked fine between me and you? Why didn't you tell me Before the avalanche came down? Before every buried accusation Came rushing around? Before one thirty-second video Somehow opened seventeen years of wrong I'd done? Before anger I had never seen Was suddenly everywhere, and from everyone? I wasn't asking you to spare me. I wasn't asking you to pretend. I was asking for the chance To know there was something We needed to mend. Because maybe we could have fixed it. Maybe we couldn't. Maybe we'd still be standing here. But at least I wouldn't have learned In one devastating moment That people I thought loved me Had a list I'd never heard. I thought we were becoming family. That's what makes this so absurd. I wasn't ignoring warning signs. I didn't know there were any. And when the whole mountain came down, I was left standing in the wreckage Trying to understand What everyone else apparently knew. If you'd been hurting... If you'd been angry... If you'd believed all those things about me... I keep coming back To the simplest question of all: Why didn't you tell me?
