After that night, things didn't get better.
They got worse.
At first, it was small things—little changes in tone, in silence, in the way people looked at each other. But slowly, it started to feel heavier. Like something was pressing down on the house itself.
I felt bad for Mom.
She was trying. She really was. She cooked, cleaned, did everything without complaint. And still—
Why couldn't Dad compliment her?
Why couldn't he be more affectionate?
More caring?
More grateful?
Why—
Something inside me snapped.
Anger rose in my chest, sharp and sudden.
Hate.
Hate.
That day, I heard Mom crying.
She was praying. And crying.
Her voice was soft, broken between whispers.
I stood there for a moment before walking in.
"Mom…?"
She didn't answer.
She didn't even look at me.
It was like I wasn't there at all.
Something about that felt worse than the crying itself.
I slowly stepped back and left the room.
I went to Olivia and told her everything.
She looked worried. Not just confused—worried.
She didn't seem like she wanted to go near Dad anymore. And yet… I could tell she wanted to. To talk to him. To fix something.
But Dad…
He kept pushing her away.
That same day, something happened I couldn't forget.
Mom dressed up.
A beautiful dress. Something she hadn't worn in a while.
She walked up to Dad and tried to hug him, smiling softly—almost hopefully.
And Dad—
He pushed her away.
Not gently.
Hard enough that she almost fell.
I froze.
I didn't remember them being like this.
They used to laugh.
Go out together.
Feed each other.
Or maybe…
Maybe I was too blind to notice.
Late that night, Mom came into our room.
"Your dad keeps complaining about everything…" she said, her voice tight.
"What happened?" Olivia asked.
"He doesn't help with anything! I have to do everything myself… And when I finally try to sleep, he starts showing me reels!"
I sat there, listening. Expressionless.
I couldn't tell who was right.
Or who was wrong.
I didn't know… why.
"The light from his phone is so bright—I can't even sleep properly! And why can't he just buy earphones? He watches everything so loudly!"
Silence.
I looked at Olivia.
She frowned, clearly affected.
At least she was feeling something.
"He's always on his phone," Mom continued. "He never even looks at us. Did you ever see his face when he comes home?"
We didn't answer.
"He looks at this house like it's a cage. Like it's hell. He never smiles. He's always so cold."
Her voice trembled slightly.
"If it wasn't me… any other wife would've left."
"I don't understand…" I muttered quietly. "If you hate him so much… why did you marry him?"
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
"You said it was a love marriage… didn't you like him?"
Mom's expression hardened.
"First of all, it wasn't a love marriage. It was an arranged marriage."
The words felt heavy.
"And it's not like I don't feel anything at all… But I never really liked him. And how was I supposed to know he'd become like this? You don't even know how charming your father used to be."
"When did you even get married?" I asked.
"Sixteen."
The room went silent.
"And Dad?"
"Thirty-two."
"What?!" Olivia shot up instantly, grabbing her calculator. "That's a sixteen-year gap! Are you serious?!"
Her voice rose with disbelief.
"It's obvious you wouldn't understand each other—you're from completely different generations!"
I let out a small, bitter laugh.
"Yeah… why did you even marry someone sixteen years older than you?"
Mom frowned.
"I didn't know his age."
"What do you mean you didn't know?" I snapped. "You didn't ask? Or his family?"
"Who asks their husband's age?" she shot back. "And he looked young. I thought he was around twenty-three."
I stared at her.
Speechless.
Something inside me twisted again.
"You got married at sixteen…" I said slowly. "Weren't you still in school?"
"Yes."
"Then why didn't you continue studying?" Olivia asked softly.
Mom hesitated.
"I failed an important exam back then… the one needed for the certificate."
"So that's why they married you off?" I asked.
"You could've tried again," Olivia added. "You said you were a topper."
"I wasn't in a situation to study anymore," Mom said quietly. "I would've failed again."
She paused.
"Your aunt could go outside, to tuition… anywhere. But I couldn't."
"Why?"
"Because your grandmother thought I was too beautiful."
The words felt strange. Heavy.
"She was afraid something would happen. The men in the village… They all watched me. So she didn't let me go out much."
Silence filled the room.
"That's why I got married early," she finished.
"But still…" Olivia began—
"Still what?" Mom snapped suddenly. "You wouldn't understand."
She turned and walked out, her footsteps sharp against the floor.
The room fell quiet.
Maybe she was right.
Maybe we didn't understand.
Maybe everything was just… fate.
Something meant to happen.
But still—
Something about it felt wrong.
I looked at Olivia.
"This is so messed up…" she muttered, rubbing her forehead.
I didn't reply.
Because deep down—
I could feel it too.
Something was getting worse.
Something we couldn't stop.
And no matter how much I tried to ignore it—
I could feel it.