The silence was the worst part. It didn’t sound like teenagers. It sounded like hiding. Every Sunday, my daughter and her quiet, impossibly polite boyfriend disappeared behind a closed bedroom door, and my imagination did the rest. I told myself to trust her. I told myself not to be that parent. But tension grew, week after week, until one afternoon I finally walked down the hall, heart pounding, hand shaking as it reached for the doorkn… Continues…