Family - II

I push open the door. The scene is exactly what I expected. Father is sitting on the couch, his back towards me, hunched over his laptop, completely immersed in his work. The TV is on, playing the evening news in the background.

But Ma… she’s not here.

I stop in my tracks, my breath hitching. Without Ma, the house feels colder, heavier. She’s the only buffer between me and him. Without her, it’s like stepping into a lion’s den without armor.

I take a deep, silent breath and start walking on my toes, careful not to make a sound. Maybe, just maybe, I can sneak past him and lock myself in my room until Ma gets back. She’s the ocean to his volcano—the only thing that can stop him from erupting. Without her presence, I’m doomed to be turned into a pile of ash.

As I inch closer to the hallway, each step feels like an eternity. I can already see my room, the door slightly ajar, my safe haven just a few strides away.

And then, it happens.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The voice sends a jolt of terror straight through my spine. My heart skips a beat, and I freeze mid-step. He caught me!

“I… I… a-am…” The words stumble out of my mouth, barely coherent.

“Come and sit down here.” His voice is heavy, leaving no room for argument.

My shoulders slump, and I exhale in defeat, my head hanging low. I murmur to myself under my breath, “Great. Superb. I’m done for.”

Dragging my feet, I make my way to the couch and sit down. Not next to him, of course—no, I pick the farthest corner of the opposite couch. If I could sit in another room entirely, I would.

I glance at him nervously. He hasn’t looked up from his laptop yet, but I know better than to think he’s distracted. His silence is always more dangerous than his words.

I’m sitting on the couch, my back straight, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. I’m sure my face looks like that of a pitiful kitten—wide-eyed, pleading, and utterly helpless.

He hasn’t said a single word since he ordered me to sit. Nothing. Not even a glance in my direction. He’s still engrossed in his laptop, his fingers moving over the keyboard like a machine running at full speed, precise and relentless.

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And that silence? It’s the worst thing imaginable.

It’s the kind of silence that wraps around you, tightening like a noose. The calm before the great storm. Every second feels like an eternity, and with each passing moment, my anxiety grows. My mind races with thoughts of what he might say, what he might do. The anticipation alone is enough to make me squirm, but I stay rooted in place, trying not to breathe too loudly, trying not to give him any reason to notice me.

I keep my gaze firmly away from his face, refusing to meet those sharp, calculating eyes that can see through every excuse, every lie. Instead, I turn my head toward the TV, desperate for a distraction.

The news is playing, the same segment on loop—something about the stock market, a political debate, and a weather update. It’s mind-numbing, but I force myself to watch. Anything is better than looking at him.

But even as I stare at the screen, I can feel the weight of his presence. The air is thick with tension, and every tap of his keyboard feels like a ticking clock, counting down to the moment he finally speaks.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. I know it’s coming. The questions, the disappointment, the scolding. But this silence? This unbearable waiting?

It’s worse than anything he could say.

And then, just as the tension becomes almost unbearable, the deadlock is broken by the sound of the front door opening.

It’s Ma.

She’s finally here.

A wave of immeasurable joy erupts in my heart, relief washing over me like a tidal wave. She’s my ray of hope, my savior. With her presence, the suffocating heaviness in the air seems to lift, if only slightly.

I want to jump up and run to her, to cling to her like a lifeline. But I stay seated, my heart hammering in my chest as I wait for her to step into the room.

She comes to the place, breathing heavily.

I nearly leave the couch and run toward her, but my body is suddenly stiff.My mind is replaying the sequence from two nights before—my harsh words, the reckless blabbering I spewed without a second thought. I made it unbearable for her and myself and didn’t even care to apologize. Even if it was just for the sake of apologizing, I should have done it. Even if I didn’t mean it, I should have.

If I had, maybe I could go and hide behind her right now. But I can’t.

All the joy and hope that filled me moments ago vanish in an instant.

My head hangs lower than it was before. I can only see my feet, and I don’t want to look at anything else either. My mind won’t stop torturing me, replaying my actions in vivid, excruciating detail. Every harsh word I threw at her feels like a weight pressing on my chest.

For a moment, it’s like the world has frozen in place, everything still except for the storm brewing inside me.

A sudden force clasping both my arms. The grip is firm but familiar, yanking me out of my thoughts.

I look up, startled, and there she is. Ma. Her face is inches from mine, her eyes filled with worry, frustration, and something I can’t quite name.

She forces me to stand, her hands still gripping my arms as though afraid I might vanish.

“Where were you all day long?!” she demands, her voice a mixture of relief and anger. “What were you doing? Why didn’t you call?! Did something happen on the way?” Her questions tumble out one after another, each one heavier than the last.

“Were you wandering in the forest again? Why do you look so pale? Did someone say something to you? Are you hurt anywhere? Did you get into trouble with someone? Did something happen to your phone? Why are you so quiet?”

Her voice cracks slightly as the questions keep pouring out, her worry palpable. She’s inspecting me with her eyes, scanning every inch of me for signs of injury or distress. Her hands move to my shoulders, then to my cheeks, cupping my face as though checking if I’m real, if I’m okay.

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. My throat feels dry, and I’m overwhelmed by her concern, by the guilt that’s been eating away at me.

“I…” I manage to croak, but nothing else follows.

Her face softens just a little, but her grip doesn’t loosen. “Why are you always like this?” she says, her voice quieter now, tinged with exasperation. “You have no idea how worried I was!

Her voice feels like she is on the verge of crying, and I am the cause of it.

My heart feels heavy, my chest tight, and I can’t bring myself to meet her eyes for more than a second.

All I can do is do nothing.

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