forbidden

I grew up in a house that looked whole from the outside
but inside, it was built on silence, fear, and unspoken rules.

My father left without goodbye,
running from the consequences of his own sins.
He left us with nothing but broken promises and a quiet storm.
And when he disappeared, my mother changed.
Soft hands became strict voices.
Gentle hugs turned into curfews and warnings.

I wasn't punished with bruises
but with limitations.
I could go out, but not too often.
I could speak, but not always be heard.
I could live... but never on my own terms.

To my mother, it was protection.
But to me, it felt like punishment for something I didn't do.

And in that house, being the eldest daughter came with expectations:
Be strong. Be silent. Be perfect.
Don't talk back. Don't ask too many questions.
And whatever you do don't be like your father.

Every day, I learned to lie.
I smiled when I was hurting.
I agreed when I wanted to scream.
I stayed even when all I wanted was to run.

Because in our home, emotions were unsafe.
Dreams were too risky.
And wanting more was... forbidden.

I wasn't looking for love.
I was looking for space to breathe.
A life not ruled by fear.
A place where I could finally say:
"I am not my father's sin. I deserve to live freely."