𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫 | 𝐒. 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 ✔️

Chapter II

There was a time in my life when I thought I'd actually lose it. That period—about a year and a half ago—was the hardest I've been through. My parents have been fighting non-stop since as far back as I can remember.

Shouting matches, cold silences, and slammed doors are the soundtrack to my memories. They haven't divorced, but not because they're holding onto some deep connection or trying to keep the family together.

The truth is, they're bound together by business. They had an arranged marriage for the sake of the family's benefits.

My mom's family runs a massive fuel company, successful enough to support generations, while my dad's family has a corporation that thrives on the stability her family provides.

The marriage was just another contract—a business deal to keep both sides profitable.

So, they stick it out. They act like the perfect couple at family gatherings and public events, but at home? They can't even stand to be in the same room.

Growing up with that... I guess it affected me more than I'd like to admit. I'd pretend not to hear the arguments, not to care, but sometimes it felt like every fight chipped away a little piece of me.

And it hurt because, in those rare quiet moments, they almost seemed... in love.
mLike, if you squinted hard enough, you could pretend they were a real couple, happy even. Just for a fleeting moment. But those moments never lasted.

I was their only child, caught in the middle of it all. Growing up, I'd hear my mom mutter to herself sometimes, "I'd be better off if I never had her."

Words I wasn't meant to hear but did anyway.

But she loves me. I think...? Or maybe she's just tired—tired of this life she's trapped in, tired of the role she plays.

She'd have her moments, those rare times when she'd brush a strand of hair from my face or ask how my day was with something that almost felt like real interest.

But it was like watching someone play a part they'd practiced a thousand times, unsure if they still meant it.

I don't know. Maybe that's what love looks like when you're stuck in a marriage built on contracts and family ties instead of feelings.

My dad, however, loved me. I saw it, always. No matter what was happening between him and my mom, he tried to be there for me. He'd show up to every event, ask me about my day, make an effort in his own way. And I appreciated that. I really did.

But his anger... it was something else. When he lost his temper, it was like he became a different person. He'd slapped me a few times, anger flaring before he could hold it back.

Every time, he'd look away afterward, quiet, maybe regretting it—I think. He never hit my mom, though.

Despite everything, he respected her. He'd keep his distance, simmering under the surface but never letting it reach her.

I guess that's what makes it confusing. He loves me, but his love comes with this edge, this temper that makes it hard to forget.

Sometimes I wonder if that's just how people show love when they don't really know any other way.

But back to me, though. The other night, I'd been holed up in my room, going over my plans, obsessing over every detail of how I'd leave and where I'd go.

I had three months left until graduation, three months until I could finally break away from all of this. And I wasn't taking any chances.

I'd mapped out everything—from the cities I might head to, to the jobs I could pick up along the way. I even had a list of things to pack, tucked away in my notebook under my bed.