Once, I wrote to you, Father, informing you that I had signed up with an escort service.

I didn’t; it was a falsehood, but I really considered it.

Probably, I would have ended up like the seventeen-year-old Russian girl in the exceptional and tragic film, Lilya 4-Ever.

I wanted you to respond, to react.

I was  just trying to get your attention.

But I received the usual from you:

Nothing.