Children don't always understand what's happening—
but they always feel it.
I was twelve when I first realized something wasn't right.
That night passed like any other, but the morning felt… off. I woke up late—summer sunlight spilling across the room, sticky and heavy. Today was a school holiday, but my private teacher had left a mountain of homework. I rubbed my eyes and noticed something strange: my sister was still asleep. Normal. But Mom… Mom was still in bed too. That was unusual.
I washed my face, found nothing much for breakfast, and skipped it. Combing my hair, I glanced outside. The sun shone brightly, but the wind hinted at rain. If it rained, my teacher wouldn't come today—and that thought brought a small, guilty flutter of happiness. Still, homework was inevitable.
I sat down to study. About thirty minutes passed when a sound behind me made me turn. Mom was awake. She didn't look happy.
What happened? I thought, my stomach tightening.
She moved to the kitchen. Maybe she'd cook lunch… maybe not. I couldn't focus, so I decided to wake Olivia.
"Olivia! Wake up! It's literally eleven o'clock!"
"Ugh… let me sleep a little more…"
"Mom looks pissed today…" I whispered.
"Maybe something happened between Mom and Dad…" Olivia murmured, eyes still half-closed.
"Something happened? Mhm… maybe they argued about some stupid thing again."
Before I could say more, Mom arrived in our room.
"Always sleeping till eleven! You think that's good for your health? This is why you're always sick, Olivia!"
Her voice wasn't just scolding—it carried something heavier. Something glossy in her eyes made me pause. Anger, yes, but something else… sadness, maybe even tears, hidden beneath it.
"Isn't she overreacting?" I whispered to Olivia.
She just stared at Mom, who kept yelling, her words sharp enough to sting. After a while, she slammed the door behind her, and I flinched instinctively.
"I mean… all I did was sleep. She didn't have to act like that," Olivia muttered.
"Mhmm…" I hummed, uncertain.
Later, Mom and Dad barely spoke. That night, Olivia went to Dad for money when he came home. Mom's voice cut through the tense air:
"Why are you dressed like that? At least take a scarf! It's inappropriate in front of your father!"
I watched. All Olivia wore were sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. Nothing inappropriate. Yet there was… a glint in Mom's tone, something I couldn't place. Jealousy? Concern? My mind refused to decide. Maybe she was just worried because of the recent news, the crimes happening everywhere. But still… she seemed unusually aggressive.
Dad, as always, was cold. It never made sense. Isn't she your wife? Shouldn't you be… affectionate?
I returned to my homework, though my thoughts kept drifting. Dad complained about small things constantly—more than before, I noticed. Mom endured it silently. Olivia returned with the money, visibly frustrated.
"Why was she acting so much about my clothes? I'm literally just talking to Dad. He wouldn't even notice!"
I didn't answer. I stayed quiet. Everyone seemed angry, but Olivia's worry lingered in the air like smoke.
Dinner brought more tension. Dad critiqued the fish.
"You could have fried it more… Maybe make it spicier, not so soupy."
Mom bristled, as she always did. I wanted to shout, Cook it yourself if you're so picky! But I couldn't. Something twisted inside me, tightening my chest.
I frowned deeply. Something bad was simmering beneath the surface. I could feel it, like a shadow pressing down.
I was scared.