Ruled by Heart's Law

(8) "Echoes of Unspoken Pain"

Ever since I was a child, I've had a habit of pouring my emotions into a diary. I didn't want anyone to know what I was feeling, so writing in that book was my way of clearing my mind and refreshing my spirit. It became my sanctuary, a place where I could lay bare my innermost thoughts without fear of judgment.

That diary has been my steadfast companion through countless nights of anguish. If a god were to grant me a single wish to change my life, I would ask for just one thing: to keep my father away from my mother.

My mother's happiness has been eclipsed by my father's presence. I often find myself lost in thought, wondering why she continues to endure the unrelenting strain of living with him. Why did she marry someone like him? Why does she put up with his cruelty, despite knowing how deeply it wounds her? The constant tension at home has worn her down over the years, leaving her with a weary, hollowed look that speaks of silent battles fought behind closed doors. Our once vibrant home now feels like a place haunted by the shadows of unspoken pain and regret.

Every day, my mother's beautiful eyes are stained with tears. The nights are filled with the sound of muffled arguments, the clinking of broken dishes, and the echo of hollow promises. I can still remember the way the light in her eyes would dim every time he walked through the door. The heavy atmosphere of our house is a constant reminder of how far removed we are from the warmth and security a family should offer.

For both my mother and me, the only moments of peace are when my father is absent-either at work, on one of his frequent, unexplained outings, or locked away in his study, absorbed in his own world. When he's gone, the air feels lighter, as if the house itself can breathe again. Those rare intervals of tranquility offer a brief respite from the relentless storm that his presence stirs.

To me, my father has always been a source of horror and disgust. He is a man who wears a mask of respectability in public, projecting an image of charm and success. At social gatherings, he is the epitome of the perfect gentleman, a pillar of the community, and a supposedly devoted husband and father. But behind closed doors, he is a tormentor who inflicts suffering and despair on those closest to him. His charming exterior is nothing more than a façade that hides his true, malevolent nature.

He excels at maintaining a facade of normalcy, playing the role of the ideal husband and father when others are watching. However, at home, his cruelty knows no bounds. He belittles my mother with biting remarks, dismisses her concerns with a wave of his hand, and imposes his will with a harsh, unforgiving demeanor. His presence is a constant source of tension, turning every day into a struggle for my mother and me.

It's clear to me that my father never married my mother out of love. His true priorities were always his own honor, prestige, and achievements. He sought a wife who would complement his public image, someone who would silently support his ambitions without question. I am left wondering why my mother, with all her grace and kindness, ever agreed to marry him in the first place. Perhaps she believed she could change him, or maybe she was desperate for a semblance of stability, a dream that has only led to disillusionment.

As the years have passed, the initial hope she might have clung to has been replaced by a resigned acceptance of a life that has never met her expectations. Each day, I see the toll that this life has taken on her-her once lively spirit diminished by the relentless grind of an unhappy marriage. Her laughter, which used to light up our home, is now a rare occurrence, overshadowed by the weight of ongoing disappointment.

In the quiet moments, I often find myself questioning the decisions that led us here. Why did we have to endure this suffering? Why couldn't we have found a way to escape the cycle of pain?

The diary remains my only outlet, a space where I can confront these questions and try to make sense of the chaos that has become our lives.

If only there were a way to undo the past, to rewrite our story and bring back the happiness that seems so distant now. But for now, all I can do is hope that one day my mother will find the strength to reclaim her life and rediscover the joy that has been buried beneath years of sorrow.

✨"Grateful
for your time spent
on my story."✨