under your umbrella.

4

"haerin."

i lift my head to see dad at the door. it's been days since he came home and it definitely start to become a surprise to see his face here out of all the places it could be.

"why are you still up at this hour?" he walks closer to where i'm sitting, taking interest in what i am up to.

"just finishing my assignments. mom's upstairs, if you're wondering." i answer his questions as i continue my work.

"not wondering, at all." dad takes off his blazer and neck tie, leaving it at the dinner table before he walks to the living room. it didn't take long after dad leave my sight for the television to start emitting noises loud enough to beat this floor's silence.

the whole drama stirred up in this household has gotten me to realise that . . .

. . . the only good thing about dad is his money. 

due to his wealth, mom didn't have to worry about working since they got married. not having to put your feet down, privileged in every way possible and have your future generations not sweat anything out for the basic necessities; it's a dream to actually marry the rich but is it really a fantasy? 

it was a dream when my parents got married. his family and hers were partners until the time i was born. that was enough a reason to believe they were arranged. they did love each other until 3 years into the marriage until it was known to them that my mom wasn't ready to bare children because she feared giving birth. dad insisted to have a child because it has been 3 years that he waited her to be prepared. not just dad, his parents was also rooting for at least a child. 

being a trophy wife she was, she had no excuse to give out about the child bearing situation. obviously, the next thing that happen is that i got conceived and mom was stressed out. her fear of pregnancy failed to be overcame. dad wasn't the most understanding man in the world so he just thought mom made too big of a deal over carrying his child.

"haerin!" dad's voice screaming my name echoes throughout the entire house. i was about to leave my seat until dad comes walking to me with his staggering steps.

he excitedly walks closer and takes a seat on my left, "do you have time to listen to your dad talk?"

"i'm in the-" 

as i meant to say no, he cuts through. "pretty please, princess."

he's drunken and too deep into it to come back sober again. it weakens me to listen to his nickname calling the same way he does years ago. since tense growing between my parents weren't minor now, i've never heard him call me with those nicknames again.

except only when he's downed almost everything in the cellar.

"sure, dad." i give in, ignoring the works i were occupied by just now.

dad claps his hand in the most childish manner a middle-aged man could possibly do, "that's my girl!"

dad, instead of letting your 17 years old daughter listen to your trauma dumping, you really need therapy.

"i know you will say i can't do compulsive decisions when it comes to this family but hear me out; i want a divorce!" under the influence of alcohol, he definitely is oblivious of his surrounding to scream on top of his lungs like that.

i shake my head in denial, "what about me? what happens to me if the both of you got separated?"

"you can stay here with me. your mom would even love to not have to raise a child. you know how dramatic she was when she was pregnant with you? good lord, that was the start of it all. she came running to her daddy and mommy to cut ties in our business partnership just because i wanted to have children." exhilaration filled within my old man just by talking shit about his wife. it made me realise even more . . .