I Finally got the Message

Chapter 2: The Choice

"Who are you going with? Your mom or me?"

One evening, amidst the chaos and tension that had become all too familiar, my parents engaged in yet another heated argument. The reasons behind their fights often eluded my young mind, but this time, the destructive force of my father's anger was evident as he shattered our belongings on the balcony. Thankfully, my mother remained physically unharmed.

As they returned inside the house, my father entered first, followed by my mother. I glanced at her, and in that fleeting moment, I saw the longing in her eyes, the silent plea of a mother hoping her children would choose her.

"Your mom and I are breaking up. Who wants to go with me?" my father's voice pierced the air, his words hanging heavily in the room. At the tender age of seven, I was faced with an impossible decision.

My younger siblings, enticed by the material possessions our father provided, gravitated towards him. They found solace in the gifts he bestowed upon them, the fulfillment of their every desire. Meanwhile, tears streamed down my face, torn between the love and loyalty I felt for both of my parents.

"Do you want to go with me? Or mom?" my Dad asked me.

I had a deep love for my dad that I couldn't resist. I cared for both of my parents, but the thought of not choosing my dad pained me greatly.

"I'll go with you," I uttered those words, and as I did, I saw my mom's face grow even sadder.

In that moment, my heart shattered into countless pieces. I couldn't forget the image of my mom on the floor, with my two older brothers beside her. My dad never liked them because they were from my mom's first marriage, but there she was, just lying there, watching us as we walked away.

As I write this, tears stream down my face, the memories of that painful moment flooding back. The anguish my mom felt, not being chosen by her eldest daughter, is etched deeply in my heart. I despised my life at that time. Why did I have to make such a choice? It felt unfair and unbearable.

As we rode in the taxi, I glanced up and caught a glimpse of my brothers looking out from the window, their faces filled with sadness. The pain in my heart intensified as I realized how much my dad despised them. They were just kids, like me, innocent and undeserving of such hatred.

As I met their gaze, at the tender age of 7, my heart ached, and tears streamed down my face. The weight of guilt consumed me, torn between the love I had for my dad and the pain of leaving my brothers behind. I couldn't bear the thought of my dad being hurt, knowing that his own children and his eldest daughter had not chosen to be with him. The conflicting emotions tore at my young soul, leaving me in a state of profound sadness and confusion.

That evening, my dad took us to the night market. We ate different foods and he bought us lots of toys. My younger siblings were so happy, but deep down, I felt guilty. While we enjoyed the food, all I could think about was my mom and older brothers. They didn't have money because my mom wasn't working and my dad didn't give her any that night. I couldn't eat much because I felt guilty that they didn't have enough to eat. It was hard to enjoy the new toys while my mom and older brothers were just at home, watching TV and trying to have fun despite their struggles.

At just 7 years old, I found myself making decisions that were far beyond what a child should have to face.

The choice between my mom and dad kept repeating as they would reconcile and fight again. Every time they fought, my dad would ask me to choose, and every time I chose my dad, it hurt my mom.

At just 7 years old, my heart felt beaten and broken by these constant decisions.

One night, as we were all asleep, that time my parents reconciled once again, I was awakened by the sound of a woman crying, and I noticed that the lights were on. Curiosity got the better of me, so I quietly got out of bed and made my way to the balcony. There, I saw my mom in tears, clutching my dad's phone in her hands. I stood there, silently observing as she navigated through the contents of his phone, her face a mixture of sadness and confusion.

Feeling confused and unable to understand why my mom was crying while looking at my dad's phone, I simply went back to bed and fell asleep.

In the morning, I was abruptly awakened by the sound of objects crashing onto the floor. Startled, I got out of bed and approached my older brother, seeking an explanation for the commotion.

"What's happening?" I whispered to him.

With a somber tone, my older brother replied, "Dad threw his phone on the floor. They're fighting again."

Curiosity and concern flooded my young mind, compelling me to sneak a glimpse of the unfolding scene. As I discreetly peered around the corner, my heart sank. I witnessed the horrifying sight of my dad choking my mom, their struggle for control and the violence escalating before my eyes.

"Dada, stop!! You're hurting mom!" I mustered up all the courage within me and rushed towards them, determined to intervene and protect my mom.

"Dada!!!" I screamed, desperately trying to pry my dad's hand away from my mom's neck.

"Dada, please... don't hurt mama," I pleaded, tears streaming down my face, as my dad remained unyielding, continuing to choke my mom.

In a state of panic, I cried out for help, hoping someone would come to our aid. However, my siblings were too frightened to intervene, leaving me as the sole child with the bravery to approach my dad and mom amidst their violent struggle.

"Go and get help!" I shouted at my older brother, urging him to seek assistance. He quickly ran to our uncle, my dad's half-brother, to bring him to the scene.

With a surge of protective anger, my uncle forcefully pushed my dad aside, causing him to release his grip on my mom's neck.

"What do you think you're doing?!" my uncle demanded, his voice filled with anger and disbelief.

My dad, however, chose to ignore my uncle's words and swiftly left the building, his actions leaving us all in a state of shock and despair. As tears continued to stream down my face, I did my best to console and assist my mom, while my uncle sat by her side, engaging in a conversation that escapes my memory. The only fragment I recall was my mom's plea, "No, I don't want the kids to grow up without their dad. I don't want him to end up in jail."