The Last Safe Place Is Gone

It's been days… no, weeks—since this house last felt peaceful.

Yelling, slamming doors, the sound of anger—that's what I fall asleep to now. My nights are no longer filled with Mom's bedtime stories or Dad's warm hugs, but silent tears hidden beneath my blanket, wishing it was just a nightmare that would end when I woke up.

But each time I open my eyes, the nightmare is still there. Real. And painful.

"Dad… why did you change?" I ask silently, over and over again.

He used to lift me high up in the air. He used to say I was his little princess, the light of his life. But now… he doesn't even look at me. His smile is cold. His voice cuts like knives. His eyes no longer belong to me. She took them.

It's been five months since our home began to crumble. Five months since Mom started losing her light.

She's grown thinner. Pale. Weak. She rarely leaves her room anymore. She doesn't eat. She doesn't speak. Every time I sit beside her and hold her hand, she just stares back with empty eyes. Empty… like her heart, slowly dying from betrayal.

"Was it Mom's fault?" I ask again. "Is that why Dad's doing this?"

No answer.

Only the sound of her weeping at night.

And when I see Dad… he laughs. With that woman. In front of us. Without shame. He holds her hand like he never held Mom's. He kisses her like he never kissed my forehead.

I… hate him.

I hate that woman.

I may only be in sixth grade, but I know. I understand. I feel the lies and betrayal.

I want to claw her face, pull her hair, make her cry the way Mom does every night. But Dad always protects her. Defends her. Even when Mom can barely breathe through her pain, Dad chooses to yell at her.

"Why, Dad…? Why do you make Mom suffer? Was your love a lie?"

I wish the answer was no. I wish Dad could go back to being my hero. But that hope… it's dying. Just like the warmth that once lived in this house.

I've had enough.

I can't keep holding this in. Watching Mom fall apart, watching this house turn cold and cruel—I can't stay quiet anymore.

With trembling steps but a firm heart, I walk to Dad's study.

Without thinking, I slam the door open. He looks up from his desk, his face showing no surprise, as if I'm just another nuisance in his day.

"Raeya?" His voice is flat. "What is it?"

My heart screams. But I hold it back. I can't be weak.

"Dad… do you even realize what you're doing?" I ask, my voice shaking. "Mom is sick now… all because of you! Don't you care?!"

My eyes well up. But I stand my ground.

He sighs. "Why should I care?" he says coldly. "You're being dramatic, Raeya."

Dramatic?

My heart shatters.

"Dad… please… tell me this is wrong. Tell me this is just a nightmare…"

The tears spill, unstoppable. Flowing with pain I can't even explain.

But I don't get a hug. Or regret.

I get anger.

"I've had enough!" he snaps. "You're just like your mother!"

His hand rises—and slap!

The sound tears through the air. My cheek burns. My ears ring.

I fall to the floor.

"Dad…" I whisper, terrified.

My breath catches. My cheek stings. But before I can stand, he grabs my arm.

"Dad—please—" I try to speak, but he yanks me again. My shoulder hits the wall. Hard.

"I'm sick of your drama!" he yells. His eyes are bloodshot—not from tears, but rage. I've never seen him like this. Even his voice makes me want to hide.

His grip on my arm is too tight. "You think this is all my fault? You think your mother's a saint? You think you can judge me?"

"Stop… Dad, please… it hurts…" I cry, struggling to break free. But I'm too small. Too weak.

He throws me down. My head hits the corner of the table.

Pain.

My vision blurs with tears.

But he's not done. He grabs my shirt collar, pushing me toward the chair.

"Stop, Dad! Please!!" I scream.

But my voice only echoes in this house that's gone cold as stone.

My body trembles. My knees are bruised. My arm is red from his grip.

And then suddenly—

"RAEYA!!!"

It's Mom.

She runs in, pulling me into her arms. "Let her go! What is wrong with you?! That's your daughter!"

Dad stands still, glaring. His eyes still dark.

I tremble in Mom's arms, sobbing without sound. She holds me tight, her hand covering the wound on my head.

"We're leaving, baby. I promise you…" she whispers, her voice breaking.

I can only nod weakly.

But in my heart… I know this wound will take a long time to heal.

Maybe it never will.

(/□＼*)

Mom took me back to my room. My whole body was trembling, the pain still fresh in every wound. Gently, she cleaned the dried blood from my temple, her hands shaking as she fought to stay composed.

"Sweetheart… let's go to the hospital," she said softly, her voice hoarse with held-back tears. "I'm scared something might happen to you…"

I shook my head quickly, clinging to her.

"No, Mom… I'm scared of the hospital. I just want to stay with you. You're… all I have left…"

Her tears fell, landing on the crown of my head. She pulled me into a tighter embrace, as if trying to heal all my wounds with what little love she had left.

I touched her cold cheek and looked into her face… so pale, so thin. When did she become this fragile? Her body was always weak now. Her face always hot with fevers that never truly broke. I knew… it wasn't her body that was sick. It was her mind, tormented by heartbreak that never healed. And Dad? He never even cared.

After finishing with the bandages, she laid me on the bed, gently patting my shoulder, whispering a prayer.

"Sleep, my love… I'm here…"

For the first time in a long while, I fell asleep in her arms—even as pain still gnawed at my body and soul.