Things were becoming tougher. My emotions started showing. The shifts in my physique became obvious. Acting usual felt forced. Faking a smile didn't help. I wanted to get to class while acting like nothing was wrong. Yet inside, things just didn't work. Dad's presence hung around every corner - so did the hidden truth. Fear stuck to me; no escape felt possible.
My mom began seeing little changes. At first, she kept quiet about them. While I worked around the house, she'd just look at me without a word. Then later, out of nowhere, she'd wonder how classes were going or who I'd been hanging out with lately. I acted like it didn't matter. Smiling a bit. Nodding along. Telling her all was okay. Yet deep down, I trembled. Pulse raced through me while knots gripped my gut.
That day, while I stood beside her rinsing plates, she started chatting about stuff from the office. Even though I nodded along, my thoughts drifted off elsewhere. Then he walked in - my dad. A small grin spread across his face when he saw me. My stomach tightened right away. I tried to play it cool. Then - clatter - the plate hit the floor. Mom glanced over, wondering if I was alright. I nodded, though my words trembled. Her eyes held mine without blinking. A chill ran through me. Running crossed my mind. So did vanishing somewhere quiet. Still, I stood there.
The following morning, Mom started questioning me again - wanted to know whether I felt unwell. Then she wondered aloud if exhaustion was hitting me hard. My answer? A quick "no." After that, she shifted focus: had I been keeping up with meals? This time, without hesitation, I replied, "yeah.". She didn't seem to believe me - her face showed concern instead. My stomach tightened, shaky inside. Telling her the real story pulled at me hard. Part of me just wanted to yell it out loud. Another part said to bolt fast. Still, I stayed frozen there. The hidden thing stuck in my chest. What Dad was going through - I couldn't say a word.
Each day felt tougher. Still, Mom kept a closer eye on me. Instead of chatting much, she'd toss in little queries - about pals, lessons, stuff like that. Then came the offer: "Need a hand?" Nope, I replied. Grinned. Kept still. Yet each glance from her stirred something tight inside. Tears bubbled up. Legs itched to bolt. The urge to vanish grew strong. Only - I just stayed put.
That evening, Mom walked into my room. When she saw tears, she wondered what was wrong. I didn't want to talk about it. Instead, I faked a grin. Told her I just needed sleep. But she wasn't buying it. So she took a seat next to me. Then gently grabbed my hand. She wondered if I was doing fine. I nodded, though it wasn't true. My heartbeat kicked up hard. Screaming sounded good right then. Spilling it all almost happened. Yet nothing came out. The truth stayed locked inside.
That night, Dad showed up in my room. I stiffened. His presence made me tense. Seeing him? Not what I needed. Being close to him brought back feelings I didn't want. Still, he walked right in. A grin appeared on his face. He checked if I was doing fine. I told him I was. He sat next to me, gripping my hand. Still, I didn't pull back. Tears built up inside. A shout pressed against my throat. Yet nothing came out. It was like being stuck in place.
A few days passed, yet Mom began spotting odd behaviors. I seemed jumpy, so she took note. Stuff slipped from my hands - she noticed that too. Quiet tears showed up, which caught her eye. Instead of big talks, she tossed out little questions. Her gaze stuck around longer than before. I acted calm at first. Yet deep down, emotions bubbled up. Still, hiding them didn't work. The truth weighed way too much. Emotions ran deeper than I expected.
That day, Mom checked on me around lunchtime. Nope, I told her, nothing's wrong. Still, she stared real hard. Then came the question about morning food. Sure thing, I answered. Her face went tight. Truth was stuck inside. Yelling felt right. Legs itched to bolt. Yet - nothing moved. I couldn't tell what was going on. Yet I kept the hidden thing to myself.
I picked up my notebook lately. Because I felt like it, I put down how I've been feeling. But then the hidden thing came out too. Even though it scared me, I wrote that part anyway. Then my dad showed up on the page somehow. I wrote about my mom - how she began seeing things. Tears came, soft and quiet, as I kept scribbling. Praying slipped into each line without meaning to. Maybe this ache would fade somehow. Maybe nobody'd ever find out. Still, nothing changed.
Each moment Dad got close, my stomach twisted. His grin made my skin crawl instead of warm fuzzies. Mom's glance pinned me like a bug on display. Self-loathing stuck deep, thick and sour. The hidden truth? It choked me slowly. Emotions ran wild - messy, hot, sharp. Him - I burned with that hate most. Even worse was hating who I became when he showed up. Running sounded sweet - a blur down empty roads. Vanishing into walls or cracks seemed fair too. Screaming would've split the air clean open. Yet nothing moved. Not one damn thing.
That evening, Mom told me to hit the hay sooner than usual. She figured it'd help keep me feeling alright. I gave a quick yes. Then headed into my space. Lying there, wide-eyed, going over stuff in my head. I kept thinking about the hidden truth. Then my mind went to Dad. After that, Mom came into focus. What if she ever learned? Fear kicked in. My stomach tightened up. There was no way out.
The following morning, Mom started grilling me again. About classes - what was going on there? Then she wondered who I'd been hanging out with lately. After that, she checked if something felt off health-wise. Each time, I just shook my head or mumbled a quick 'nope.'. Yet she kept her eyes on me. At times, her brow tightened. Her expression seemed uneasy. I felt like spilling it all out. Like shouting at the top of my lungs. Like bolting without looking back. Still, I stayed silent. The truth just wouldn't come out.
Each morning, fear got stronger. Guilt crept up just behind it. Nervousness followed close after that. Mom began wondering what was going on. I could tell - she already had her doubts. I saw it in her eyes. Not just that - how she looked at me gave it away. Then there was the way she questioned things, sharp-like. Running wasn't an option anymore. Hiding? Forget it. The truth had grown too large to ignore.
I began spending most days shut up in my room. Whenever possible, I kept a wide gap between me and Dad. Scribbling thoughts down became routine. Tears came soft, never loud. Whispered prayers slipped out at night. My biggest fear? Mom figuring it all out. I hoped the secret might stay buried. Still, I sensed she was beginning to notice. Something felt off - like she had doubts creeping in. Yet I couldn't tell how much she really knew.
That night I couldn't sleep. While lying there, memories of Dad drifted through my mind. Then Mom came up - her voice, her face. Because the past kept pushing forward, that hidden thing resurfaced slowly. Even though I tried to push it away, emotions rose without warning. I thought about fear. Then guilt popped up. Everything came rushing in - so I just sat there, silent tears falling. Things felt broken; like they'd never go back. Hoping the truth would fade away didn't help. It stayed right where it was.
My mom had a hunch - something was off. I sensed it right away. Her stare gave it away. The tone she used said plenty. She wasn't aware of everything. The hidden part? Still unknown to her. Yet things were becoming clear to her. Meanwhile, fear gripped me - tight and sudden. Everything felt threatening, unpredictable each second. Dad's safety weighed on my mind constantly. My own skin didn't feel safe anymore. The whole family? Always on edge.
I sensed a shift coming. A force beyond control. An event that'd alter every outcome. Yet had no clue what to do next. I had no clue how to keep it under wraps. Telling Mom felt impossible, like stepping off a cliff. All I sensed was the weight growing - day after day. Then came the certainty - it'd burst out on its own.