The language you learned before language
You didn't grow up with a family that said "I'm hurt" or "I need space." You grew up with a family that said nothing, and you learned to read that nothing like a second alphabet. You knew which silence meant your father was ashamed. You knew which silence meant your mother was exhausted versus which one meant she was done. You learned this the way you learned to read the sky before rain, not from a lesson, but from repetition and consequence.
