UNENDING

30- Floodgate

-AL-QASIM-

The noise was relentless. My mother's shrill voice filled the grand living room of the mansion, echoing off the marble floors and high ceilings. I tried to block it out, focusing on the delicate patterns in the Persian rug beneath my feet. My father sat opposite me, flipping through his newspaper as though my mother's hysterics were just background noise. His indifference only fueled her rage further.

"Look at him!" she screeched, her voice rising in pitch. "This is how he repays us for everything we've done for him! This is how he shows his gratitude!"

She seemed to have mistaken her shouting for effective communication, but it did nothing to change the stubborn set of my father's jaw. I could tell he was done with this charade. He sighed deeply, as if every breath he took was weighed down by his frustration. He leaned back into his plush couch and regarded my mother with a weary expression.

"Disturbing the neighborhood with your parrot-like screeches isn't going to change anything," he said coolly, barely glancing up from his newspaper. "He's a grown man, not a child anymore. Maybe it's time you stopped trying to control every aspect of his life."

My heart skipped a beat. For the first time ever, my father was stepping into the fray, challenging my mother's authority. The shock of his words was a double-edged sword. Part of me wanted to relish the rare moment of support, but another part of me knew it came too late to fix the years of damage.

My mother turned on him with fury in her eyes. "Oh, so now you're siding with him? You think I've been too hard on him? He's disrespecting me, and this is your solution?"

My father's face hardened, a rare show of irritation. "I'm giving my own commands now. You're not to meddle in his marriage. Enough is enough."

He looked at me, and I could sense a grudging respect in his gaze. "Don't say I haven't done anything for you."

I scoffed, the sound escaping from my lips before I could stop it. "Oh, really? Should I get on my knees and thank you for the privilege?"

My mother's face turned red with indignation. She stormed towards me, her finger wagging in accusation. "How did you turn into this person? This disrespectful, ungrateful son?"

The floodgates opened. I could no longer contain the years of frustration, anger, and loneliness that had been simmering beneath the surface. I looked her squarely in the eye, my voice steady but edged with bitterness.

"It's because I was raised by selfish parents," I said, my voice cutting through the chaos. "You were never there for me, not really. I was raised by nannies, and the only time you paid me any attention was when you needed me to impress your friends. You never wanted to know me, never cared about what I felt. And you—" I turned to him, "—you told me when I was just seven that my only purpose was to continue your legacy, to uphold your reputation. How does that make me feel? Like I'm nothing but a pawn for your ambitions."

My mother's eyes widened, her mouth hanging open. "How dare you—"

"Do you know what it's like to live your entire life as a pawn?" I continued, ignoring her interruption. "To hear your parents argue every night, to know that your presence is nothing more than a nuisance? To never experience the warmth of a father's embrace or the genuine love of a parent? At least he didn't pretend. But you—" I pointed at her, "—you faked it. You acted like you cared when all you really cared about was yourself and what your friends thought of you."

"I am not going to—" she began, but I cut her off.

"You are the reason I am the way I am," I said, my voice raw with emotion. "And I'm not going to give in to your selfish whims. I won't let you dictate my marriage or my life. I'm done with this."