When you smile

Chapter 12

Dev's P.O.V.

Mom retreats to her room, her footsteps echoing her exhaustion and the weight of the situation. The chaos that awaits her inside the room tells a story she knows all too well—the story of her husband's anger, a story that has unfolded countless times before. I follow her, my hand extending towards her shoulder in a gentle attempt to offer solace. She doesn't acknowledge my presence, but her closed eyes and the tears slipping down her cheeks betray her pain. With a heavy sigh, she moves towards the bed, her movements weighted with weariness. She picks up Dad's jacket from the chaotic pile, her actions a testament to her undying love and resilience.

"Go and give it to your dad. He's running late for his meeting," she whispers softly, her voice tinged with exhaustion.

I nod in response, understanding the unspoken request. Taking a deep breath, I grasp the jacket in my hands and make my way towards the main door. Dad stands there, a silent figure lost in his thoughts. His fingers fumble inside the file, his gaze fixed on the ground as if searching for answers in the patterns of the tiles. Regret, perhaps, lingers in his eyes, a residue of the anger that had consumed him earlier.

Approaching him, I extend the jacket without a word. Slowly, he raises his eyes, meeting mine for a fleeting moment, before his gaze shifts to the jacket. A heavy sigh escapes his lips, his shoulders slumping as he accepts it. His thoughts seem to retreat back to his room, where the remnants of his rage still hang in the air. But a moment of reflection crosses his mind, and he slips the jacket on, as if seeking refuge in its familiar embrace. With newfound determination, he steps outside, heading towards his car, each step carrying the weight of his own actions.

Turning back towards Mom's room, the sound of sobs resonates, drawing me closer like a magnetic force. I approach the door hesitantly, the atmosphere within the room feeling heavy and suffocating. The darkness seems to amplify the emotional turmoil, with only a faint glow filtering through the curtains. It casts a muted glow on the chaos that surrounds us—the strewn clothes and files, the open wardrobe doors. Dad's anger has left its mark, turning the room into a battleground of emotions.

Mom sits on the edge of the bed, her presence both fragile and resilient amidst the chaos. Clothes and files are strewn around like fallen soldiers after a battle, a stark contrast to the normally organized environment. Open wardrobe doors stand ajar, like sentinels of chaos, framing her in a backdrop of tumult. Her eyes are fixed on the floor, a blank gaze that conceals the storm of emotions raging within her. Her lips tremble, a silent protest against the emotions threatening to spill over. The bedsheets are clutched tightly in her hands, as if seeking an anchor in this sea of turmoil.

The cascade of her hair, usually carefully kept, falls loosely around her shoulders like a curtain of obsidian, framing her face like a dark halo. As the light dances upon her face, it reveals the raw emotions that lie beneath the surface—the unspoken pain, the quiet struggles.

This isn't the first time Dad's anger has been unleashed upon her. The memories resurface, harking back to my childhood when Dad's career was fraught with challenges. The strain was palpable, financial worries gnawing at the family's stability. Mom made the difficult decision to sacrifice her own job to care for me. Dad's frustration often found an outlet at home, his anger a manifestation of the pressures he faced. Mom endured it all, understanding that his outbursts were fueled by the weight of his responsibilities. And now, in a different chapter of our lives, the cycle repeats itself. But it doesn't make it right. Just because he's stressed about work doesn't justify taking it out on Mom. She's stressed too. Who stands up for her?

Seeing Mom in this vulnerable state is like a blade through my heart, a pain that refuses to be ignored. She's the one who has always wiped away my tears, who has been my pillar of strength when I'm scared or unsure. To witness her in this way, broken by the weight of Dad's anger, ignites a fire within me—a fire that burns with the resolve to change this cycle, to break this pattern. It's not fair to Mom, and it's not fair to me either.