Is it really possible to forgive something like that?
Every time I see a family on the street, parents laughing with their daughter, Im struck by a chill of envy.
Once, we were a family like that too. But then something changedsome invisible line was crossed, and my father and mother turned our lives, and my own, into a kind of living hell. I still blame them for not simply ending it when it became clear they despised each other. For not making the only sane choice: getting a divorce.
***
I cant even remember when it all started.
Our house had always been warm, filled with laughter, safe. Slowly, it turned cold, dark, and utterly alien.
Mum stopped smiling, making the same bland meals every night, retreating into long, defeated silences. She couldnt be less interested in mewhat I was thinking, what was happening at school, or why I sobbed quietly into my pillow at night. There wasnt a single occasion I could recall where we sat together, arms around each other, and spoke from the heart.
Dad was barely around, slipping in and out while I slept. If I caught sight of him, hed ruffle my hair, grin, maybe toss me a gentle, offhanded word like,
Morning, princess! Arent you a stunner today?
It was nothing, really, but each drop of affection was something to cling toa thin lifeline, convincing me he loved me, at least in some small way.
***
By fifteen I finally understood: my parents didnt love each other. Ours was no fortress of a homeit was a bloody battleground.
Dad cheated on my mum without shame. Id swear, sometimes, he enjoyed letting her know just to watch her suffer. The scent of strange perfume on his coats, the whispered phone calls hed take in the hallway, the sly little smile he wore when Mum set dinner in stony silence in front of himjust little humiliations, again and again.
Even I felt uneasy living through it, let alone what it did to Mum.
Her quiet, nightly tears, hollowed cheeks, and the blank, haunted look in her eyes all spoke volumes: She was a wreck.
Dad, seeing her pain, just smirked and stoked the fire. Hed come home beaming, find some excuse to start another meaningless row, driving Mum to the brink. Then, with theatrical innocence, hed declare,
Look, Im not to blame! Its always her, isn’t it?
Strange, but through all that, he never stopped being kind to me. I was my darling girl, hed saybring me chocolate bars, ask me about school, my grades.
I clung to those scraps of affection like a life vest, fighting not to drown in their sea of bitterness.
And then, everything exploded.
***
Dad stumbled in one night, late, reeking of beer and happiness. Seeing me at the table, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders.
Well, princess, hows things?
Fine, I muttered, eyes glued to my book.
Im absolutely smashing! he laughed.
Mum, her back set hard and straight, finally cracked. She turned and, with chilling calmness, her words cutting like glass, said,
Why are you even asking her? Shes not your daughter. Surely youve worked that out by now.
Dad froze. His hand left my shoulder, eyes boring into me, and I saw all the light die in his face. Then he turned to Mum. She flinched as if bracing for a blow, but none came.
Without saying a word, Dad left.
From that day on I was a stranger to him; the flat was just a house share. Later, Mum swore she only said it to wound, that of course I was his. But by then, a wall had gone upcold and impenetrable.
Dad never hugged me again, not once did he ask how I was. I simply stopped existing for him.
***
After I finished school, I ran away. Got into a university down south and came home only on rare, short breaksjust long enough to remember why I shouldnt stay.
I married quickly, desperate for distance.
Desperate to escape.
Dad wasnt at my wedding. Mum came, sat in a shadow by the wall, silent and broken as ever.
All these years later, I never grew close to her.
***
Now that I have my own familychildren, even grandchildrenI look at her with a cooler understanding: misery had become her home. She clung to her pain as if it gave her purpose. Perhaps even joy. Was her endless patience love? No! Of course not! People who truly love each other do not torment one another like that.
Hurt yourself if you must, but why drag me into it? They couldve simply parted ways. Given themselves, and me, a chance at a real life.
***
I saw Dad next only years later, at Mums funeral.
He looked small, hunchedhis face mapped with lines, a shadow of his former, smug self.
After the service, just before I was about to get into a cab, he came over.
We need to talk about how things should be now, his voice rough, not meeting my eyes.
Well carry on as before, I replied, staring past him. Separately.
He sighed.
We made mistakes, your mum and I. Now IId like to try again. Be a family. See you. The grandchildren.
I have a family, I said, firm and flat. You managed on your own until now. Carry on the same way.
As I spoke, I watched myself from the inside out: nothing. No painnot even a tremor.
We never saw each other again.
***
Years have passed, and hes long gone, yet I never forgave him. People say, Let it go, he was your father. But he was a man too. He couldve left. He couldve spared us all that misery.
But he stayed.
To savour it.
Not just the women, but Mums heartacheher jealousy his only sustenance.
And me
I was just a casualty of their war.
A casualty
Ive carried it my whole life, convinced I was to blamethat I was faulty, somehow.
Forgiveness is hard. Forgetting, impossible.
So no, I dont wish him peace. Nor earth soft as velvet. Maybeglass wool will do.
Is that wrong? Maybe. But its the truth.
