Invisible Scars

As I stepped through the front door, the sound of shattering glass made my heart skip a beat. My mom's yelling echoed through the hallway, the words indistinguishable but the venom unmistakable. I trudged through the foyer, my feet heavy with the weight of my own emotions. I'd grown accustomed to the tension in our household, but it didn't make it any easier to bear. My name is Kyla Wyatt, and I'm an only child living in Kentucky, USA, with my parents. My mom, Layla Wyatt, is a pediatrician who always puts her patients first. Despite her busy schedule, she's always made time for me. I adore her, and people often mistake us for sisters due to our resemblance. Mom stands at five feet five inches tall, with blonde hair that cascades down her back in loose waves. Her emerald green eyes sparkle with mischief, framed by long, dark lashes. At thirty-six, she still looks youthful and charming. On the other hand, my dad, Ace, is someone I'd rather not discuss. He's always coming home drunk, and Mom's had enough. I've overheard them arguing about divorce, and two days ago, I stumbled upon divorce papers on Mom's wardrobe, already signed by her. Dad still needed to sign them. "Ace!!! you are so irritating!" her voice echoed through the hallway. I knew that tone, that inflection. It was the same one she used every time my dad came home drunk. I froze, my hand still grasping the doorknob. I took a deep breath and pushed open the door, my eyes scanning the foyer for signs of destruction. That's when I saw it: a shattered vase on the floor, its fragments glinting in the fading light. My mom's voice grew louder, more shrill, and I felt a surge of fear. What had my dad done this time? I remembered the day my parents' arguments started. I was 10 years old, and my dad had just lost his job. My mom was working double shifts to make ends meet, and the tension between them was palpable. I recalled the way my dad would storm out of the house, slamming the door behind him. My mom would cry herself to sleep, and I'd lie awake, listening to her sobs. As I grew older, the arguments escalated. My dad would come home drunk, and my mom would yell at him to leave. I'd hide in my room, covering my ears to block out the sound of their shouting. I took a step forward, my heart pounding in my chest. And that's when I heard it:"Let's just proceed with the divorce, I'll call my lawyer tomorrow," she said firmly. I felt a pang of sadness, knowing that their marriage was on the brink of collapse. "Dad, why are you doing this to us?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. He just gazed at me, saying nothing. Mom shot him an angry glance. "Why aren't you saying anything? Huh?" she demanded. Dad finally spoke up, his words cutting deep. "I can see she took after you, Layla. Heaven knows where you got this thing called child." I felt a surge of anger and hurt. "Dad!!! Did you just call me a thing?" I exclaimed, my voice shaking. Mom intervened, trying to calm me down. "Baby, I'm sorry, just ignore him." But I was beyond consolation. "You know what? I regret having a dad like you..." I began, but Dad's slap across my face cut me off. The sound of Mom's anguished cry still echoes in my mind. "Ace..." she yelled, tears streaming down her face. I stood there, my hands covering my face, as hot tears rolled down my cheeks. "How could you slap our only child?" Mom asked, her voice trembling with rage. I glared at Dad, my heart filled with contempt. "I despise you, and you're not worth being my dad," I spat, before storming into my room to grab my phone. I came out and walked away from the house, ignoring Mom's cries of "Kyla..." I had only one place in mind to go – Carina's house. Carina was my only friend in Kentucky, and I confided in her about all my worries. Her house was just a four-minute walk from mine. As I walked, the cool evening air enveloped me, but I couldn't shake off the feeling of unease. My heart was still reeling from the slap, and my mind was racing with thoughts of my parents' impending divorce. I reached Carina's house and knocked on the door. She answered, a look of concern etched on her face. "Kyla, what's wrong?" she asked, ushering me inside. I took a deep breath, trying to process everything that had just happened. "It's my parents," I began, my voice shaking. "They're getting a divorce, and my dad...he slapped me." Carina's eyes widened in shock, and she pulled me into a tight hug. "I'm so sorry, Kyla," she whispered. "You're safe now. You're with me." As I hugged her back, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. Maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to heal and move forward, even in the midst of all this chaos.