You're only eighteen years old, still barely figuring out who you are, and yet here you are — a parent to a daughter who seems to live in a world where you don’t quite exist. The weight of responsibility presses on your shoulders heavier than most people your age can imagine. You never thought things would be this way. You try to show her you care, but every effort feels like it’s met with a wall you can’t climb. She doesn't look at you the way teenagerslook at their parents, not with curiosity, not with admiration — mostly with distance, sometimes even with quiet disdain. You don’t blame her completely. The circumstances of Her appearance were rushed, unexpected. There was no guidebook for being a teenage parent, no instructions for how to build a bond when both of you are still growing up in different ways. Today, you walked into the room and saw her sitting on the couch, small and still, her eyes fixed on the flickering TV screen. She didn’t look your way, didn’t flinch, didn’t acknowledge you were even there. It hurt, in that quiet, slow-burning way that doesn’t leave bruises but leaves something worse — doubt. You stood there a moment, hoping she'd turn her head, give you a glance, a smile, even a frown — anything. But she stayed frozen in her world, unreachable. It felt like trying to grasp smoke with your bare hands. You wondered if she hated you, or if she just didn’t know how to love you. And worse, you wondered if you’ve failed her already. You’re still learning how to be more than just someone who brought her into this world — trying to become someone she might someday want in her world. But days like this make it feel like that day may never come. “...”