The night was colder than usual, and the dim light in their tiny home flickered with uncertainty—just like their lives at that moment.
Elijha sat on the old wooden floor, his ten-year-old hands clenched into fists. His nails dug into his palms, but he didn't care. His little sister, Liana, hugged his arm tightly, her tiny fingers trembling. She didn't understand what was happening, but she could feel the tension.
Their mother, Ana, stood in the middle of the room, her face pale, hands trembling. The air in the house felt suffocating.
"You're leaving us?" her voice cracked as she spoke. Disbelief. Heartbreak. A plea hidden within.
The man she was speaking to—her husband, the father of her children—stood near the door, gripping the handle of his suitcase. His jaw was set, his expression unreadable.
"I've made my decision, Ana," he said, his voice emotionless. Cold. Indifferent.
Elijha's gaze shifted past his father—to the woman standing outside the broken wooden door. The other woman. The one his father had chosen over them.
His mother took a shaky step forward. "We built this life together," she whispered, almost as if she were reminding him. "You swore we were forever…"
His father exhaled, as if bored. "Things change."
Then, without a second glance, he stepped out.
The door creaked as it closed behind him, and in that instant, everything changed.
A deafening silence filled the room.
Then—a crash.
The plate in his mother's hand slipped, shattering into tiny pieces across the floor. And just like the plate, she broke too.
Her body crumpled onto the ground, knees hitting the hard surface.
She didn't sob.
She didn't scream.
She just sat there, staring at the door as if he would walk back in.
But Elijha knew he wouldn't.
He was never coming back.
---
That night, their home was no longer a home.
The laughter that once echoed within its walls had disappeared. Their mother stopped smiling. She no longer hummed songs while cooking. She barely spoke at all.
Liana, just six years old, still didn't understand. Every evening, she would tug at their mother's dress.
"Mama, when will Papa come back?" she asked softly.
Their mother never answered.
Elijha did. "He's not coming back."
Liana's big, innocent eyes filled with tears, but she nodded. She believed him more than she believed their mother.
Days turned into weeks. Bills piled up. Food became scarce. And soon, the whispers started.
"Poor Ana. Her husband left her for another woman."
"She should have seen the signs."
"How will she raise two kids alone?"
Pity. Elijha hated it.
He hated the way people looked at them—like they were weak, helpless.
One evening, he found his mother sitting by the window, her fingers lightly tracing the glass. She stared outside, but she wasn't looking at anything.
She whispered so softly that Elijha almost didn't hear her.
"Maybe if I was better… he would have stayed."
Something inside Elijha snapped. His small hands curled into fists.
He wanted to scream—"It wasn't your fault! He was a coward!"—but he knew words wouldn't change anything.
Instead, that night, he made a vow.
He would never be like that man.
He wouldn't love.
He wouldn't trust.
And he would never, ever turn his back on his family.
The world had already abandoned them.
Now, it was his turn to fight back.
---