{"id":932,"date":"2026-06-03T14:41:23","date_gmt":"2026-06-03T14:41:23","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/wordsfly.org\/?p=932"},"modified":"2026-05-13T14:42:49","modified_gmt":"2026-05-13T14:42:49","slug":"history","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/wordsfly.org\/it\/2026\/06\/03\/history\/","title":{"rendered":"History"},"content":{"rendered":"

Reading time: 10 minutes<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I woke up to a white ceiling. It wasn\u2019t the soft white of morning light\u2014it was sterile, unforgiving. The kind that made you feel like your life had been rinsed of color. I was in an uncomfortable bed, my body heavy in a way that didn\u2019t feel like sleep. My eyelids barely lifted. Somewhere nearby, a beeping sound kept time with my panic. Then the smell hit me\u2014medicine. Sharp. Chemical. Hospital. I was in a hospital. \u201cOh no,\u201d I thought, the words landing like a stone. \u201cMom probably took me here after I fainted.\u201d The doctor came in. He didn\u2019t look cautious. He looked relieved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHello, Chloe. I\u2019m glad to see you awake. How do you feel?\u201d
\u201cI\u2019m fine.\u201d
\u201cGood. Before we release you, we\u2019ll run a few tests\u2014just to make sure everything is okay. You might be discharged this evening or tomorrow morning. We took a blood test and found some Vicodin in your system\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His voice faded into the background. I spaced out. Because I couldn\u2019t remember anything that followed that blank space in my mind\u2014the moment that night turned into something else. The night I had been with Enrique. My thoughts raced, skidding over gaps like they were broken glass. I didn\u2019t know what to do. I didn\u2019t even know what I was<\/em> supposed to feel. A sick, empty dread rose inside me. One would expect someone to be here\u2014your parents. A loved one. Waiting, desperate, yearning for your eyes to open. Someone clinging to hope, watching for any sign that you were real again. But no one sat beside my bed, did they?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDoes my mom know about the drugs?\u201d I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it.
\u201cYes,\u201d the doctor said. \u201cWe must inform your parents or guardians about your medical status and results.\u201d
\u201cHas she been visiting?\u201d
The pause that followed said everything. \u201c…No.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As much as I tried not to set expectations for her, I had wanted\u2014just for one second\u2014that she would come. That she would look at me with anything other than irritation. Anything other than disappointment wrapped in money. But of course she didn\u2019t. She would never truly care about me. I know she paid the hospital bill. I know she covered the cost. That\u2019s all I am to her, isn\u2019t it? A burden\u2014one she pays to keep under control. The only way she knows how to care is by treating my suffering like an invoice. Emotion? That part gets ignored. Always. Not just by her\u2014by everyone. Even my own mother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The doctor left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He came back and forth later, checking my vitals, running tests, recording my health like my pain could be reduced to numbers. Hours passed in the slow, suffocating way hospitals do\u2014everything quiet except the beeping and my thoughts spiraling. Eventually, he returned with good news. \u201cYou\u2019re okay,\u201d he told me. \u201cYou can go home this evening.\u201d I left the hospital. But I didn\u2019t feel healed. I felt emptied out\u2014numb in the way that comes after fear. I stared at the outside world like it couldn\u2019t possibly belong to me anymore. I couldn\u2019t picture going back to that house. Not after everything. She was angry enough to notice I\u2019d come home late. Now she knew I\u2019d been at a party. A party that involved illegal substances. I didn\u2019t know how much she paid the doctor to make sure it didn\u2019t become a bigger disaster. I didn\u2019t know what she traded, what she smoothed over, what she bought<\/em> this time. But I couldn\u2019t handle another lecture. Not another performance of outrage. Not another wave of blame that tasted like punishment. I\u2019d rather go back to the hospital than face her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then something clicked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Who could I run to? Who would actually show up for me\u2014without asking what it cost? I remembered the birthday gift he\u2019d sent me. And somehow, my mouth formed a smile. It didn\u2019t belong there. It felt wrong on my face. But it was real. A real smile, arriving too late\u2014yet still there. It was time to visit Simon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

***<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Knock. Knock.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHi Simon.\u201d
\u201cHi, Chloe. How are you? How is home?\u201d I hesitated. The words caught in my throat like they didn\u2019t know how to exist. I wanted to tell him everything. The drugs. The hospital. The way my mom vanished like I was just another inconvenience. The fear I\u2019d carried all day like it was strapped to my ribs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I couldn\u2019t. No. Not yet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cUhmm\u2026\u201d I swallowed.
\u201cEveryone is OK,\u201d I said. Even as I spoke, I felt the lie crack between us.
\u201cChloe\u2026 are you sure you\u2019re okay?\u201d Simon\u2019s voice softened immediately. \u201cYou don\u2019t have to lie to me. I\u2019m your uncle.\u201d
Something broke in me then. The moment he said uncle<\/em>, the dam gave way. Tears flooded my eyes as if my body had been holding them hostage for too long. I couldn\u2019t stop it. I couldn\u2019t control it. I couldn\u2019t even pretend I was fine anymore. I started crying\u2014hard. Shaking. Helpless. And then my legs failed. I fell to my knees in front of him, like my body understood what my mouth couldn\u2019t say. Fear surged through me. Everything felt unbearably sad\u2014like the world was too heavy and I was the only one trapped beneath it. My chest hurts. My head pounded. My heart was heavy, drowning in its own weight. Simon dropped to his knees too, catching me with his hands\u2014steady, urgent.
\u201cHey\u2014hey. Chloe. Look at me.\u201d I kept sobbing, words spilling out like I was finally unburdening something I\u2019d been swallowing for months.
\u201cEverything is hell. Home is terrible. Dad is gone. Mom is sad and rude all the time. Adam left\u2014he left us. He left me.\u201d I choked on the last word.
\u201cI don\u2019t know how to take everything. I\u2019m just so depressed. I\u2019ve been looking for an escape from everything but I feel too weak even to do that\u2014\u201d My breath came in sharp, broken pieces.
\u201cWhat even happened between Mom and Dad? How did they even get together in the first place?!\u201d
\u201cI know.\u201d
\u201cWhat?\u201d
\u201cI know what happened between them,\u201d Simon said quietly, but with the weight of truth. \u201cAnd I think it\u2019s time you do as well.\u201d
I still went. Flabbergasted. Wordless. My lips were shut, but my mind was loud\u2014too many questions pressing against the inside of my skull.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Simon took a breath, then began.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

***<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIn 1998, your dad and I were at a youth event. We\u2019d been through most of it\u2014the end was coming. Then we saw her.\u201d He paused, as if remembering the exact moment even now. \u201cYour mother. She looked\u2026 fresh out of high school. Pretty. Flawless skin. Nice outfit. She carried herself like she belonged somewhere\u2014like she was built to be admired.\u201d He exhaled. \u201cBut she also looked like too much of a try-hard.\u201d
\u201cA try-hard?\u201d I echoed, barely audible.
\u201cYes. A \u2018try hard\u2019 at being a good girl. The obedient girl. The embodiment of discipline. The kind of person people called perfect because they didn\u2019t want to look closer.\u201d Simon\u2019s eyes met mine again. \u201cAnd I dared your dad to go talk to her. Just a small challenge. I didn\u2019t expect anything to come of it. But then\u2014 He approached her. They talked. And your dad\u2014he had always been good at flirting.\u201d He swallowed the memory like it tasted bitter. \u201cI didn\u2019t know how everything escalated after that. It wasn\u2019t dramatic at first. It was just\u2026 conversations. Then other events. Then they kept showing up for each other. Soon they weren\u2019t just acquaintances. They became good friends. But it was only friendship\u2014because of how assertive your mother was. I\u2019m not kidding. She was a \u2018goodie two shoes.\u2019\u201d
\u201cAnd then,\u201d Simon continued, \u201cit was New Year\u2019s. The crossover to the new millennium\u20141999 to 2000. I don\u2019t know how it happened. But your mom was at your dad\u2019s place that night.\u201d Simon let the silence stretch. When she went back home the next morning\u2026 She found her bags outside the doorstep.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stared at him, breath trapped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour mother\u2019s family was\u2026 complicated,\u201d Simon said. \u201cHer father died when she was twelve. After that, she lived with her brother\u2014strictly. Rude. Unforgiving. And so your mother learned to be an obedient overachiever just to survive.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A pause.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut this one slip-up turned her world upside down. She went back to your father\u2019s house. She took her bags and moved from one doorstep to another. So they lived together,\u201d he said. \u201cBut not out of love. Not out of intention. Your parents were constantly frustrated by each other\u2019s presence.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He spoke the words like they were evidence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour dad was angry because he felt like he\u2019d been handed a responsibility he never asked for. Your mom was angry because she blamed your dad for that day\u2014because she blamed him for taking her life apart.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd the cycle continued,\u201d Simon finished.
\u201cBut\u2026 but?\u201d I whispered. \u201cHow did they have kids?\u201d
Simon\u2019s face tightened, like he hated how simple the question was.
\u201cHow and why do they have kids,\u201d he repeated, \u201cand not just in stories\u2014people do it. Adults do it. Emotions get tangled with choices. Love gets mistaken for pressure. And when you\u2019re trapped in a situation you didn\u2019t truly choose\u2026 you keep going even when you\u2019re falling.\u201d
He swallowed.
\u201cAs much as we like to think adulthood makes things make sense\u2014being a young adult makes it even worse. You\u2019re overwhelmed. You\u2019re still learning. You end up in weird situations with nowhere safe to put your feelings.\u201d
\u201cIn 2004,\u201d he said, \u201cyour brother, Adam, was born.\u201d His voice softened for a second.
\u201cThey were happy.\u201d Then it faded again.
\u201cBut their joy didn\u2019t last.\u201d Simon\u2019s jaw clenched.
\u201cThen your father\u2026\u201d He didn\u2019t have to finish the sentence. I already knew what was coming.
\u201cYour father has anger issues.\u201d He said it plainly. \u201cIt\u2019s been a weakness he carried for a long time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhen we were kids, he used to get into fights with the neighborhood boys. Before he did anything he would regret, I would try to stop him. But with your mother, I couldn\u2019t be there. I could only hear about it from him\u2014or from Adam.\u201d
\u201cAdam?\u201d I repeated.
\u201cYes. Adam always came here and told me everything when it got too much for him.\u201d
His voice broke just slightly.
\u201cIf it weren\u2019t for him, I would\u2019ve been on your dad\u2019s side\u2014unaware of the violence and pain your household was swallowing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I felt sick.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour brother was four when it started.\u201d Simon spoke like he was reciting something carved into stone.
\u201cYour dad would get angry about financial issues. He always came to me to complain about money\u2014about what your mother asked for. She wanted money for businesses,\u201d he continued. \u201cSmall businesses. Ideas were good sometimes. But without enough capital, they couldn\u2019t work. And when things failed\u2014your mother blamed your dad. And your dad was angry because he felt like he couldn\u2019t accomplish anything if he kept cashing out money without reception.\u201d He let the silence return, heavy. \u201cThey blamed each other endlessly. For not being successful. For not building the life they thought they deserved.\u201d
\u201cAnd with every day,\u201d Simon said, voice low and grim, \u201ctheir hate grew. Their depression. Their bitterness.\u201d He looked at me like I was the only person he wanted to protect. \u201cI had no way to control your father,\u201d he admitted. \u201cI was powerless.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His eyes held mine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd I\u2019m so sorry for you. I\u2019m sorry for Adam.\u201d Then, quieter\u2014 \u201cFor letting you down,\u201d he finished. \u201cBoth of you.\u201d
\u201c I just wish I still had him around,\u201d I said, the words slipping out with a mix of anger, frustration\u2014and something quieter, softer underneath. I was sad. I missed my brother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d I heard myself ask. \u201cWait\u2014what? I talk to him all the time. What do you mean he\u2019s not home?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d I repeated, but it came out wrong\u2014too sharp, too confused.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then Auntie Lucy arrived, pulling up with her kids in tow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh my goodness,\u201d she said, rushing forward. \u201cHi, Chloe!\u201d She enveloped me in hugs and kisses, smothering my breath with warmth I didn\u2019t know where to put.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I forced my face to cooperate. I had to switch from a grimace to a fake, welcoming smile. But my mind was already sprinting\u2014circling the thought of Adam like it was burning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow is Mom?\u201d Auntie Lucy kept going. \u201cHow\u2019s the family? How\u2019s school? And\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She talked nonstop, and I answered the way you do when you\u2019re trapped. Short replies. Polite smiles. Anything to keep the conversation moving while I burned with questions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wanted answers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By the time she finally stopped, it was almost like she\u2019d completed some kind of interrogation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWow, time flies,\u201d she said, glancing at her watch. \u201cIt\u2019s getting late. You should head home soon.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I looked at Uncle Simon for help\u2014hopeful that he\u2019d say something, anything. But his head was lowered, and he looked as lost as I felt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So I gave up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

***<\/p>\n\n\n\n

20:59<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I walked home tired and restless, carrying confusion like it weighed something. I wanted to cry so badly, but it felt like there was a rock lodged in my throat\u2014pushing, stretching, trying to break free and turn into tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I couldn\u2019t let it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If I did, I\u2019d look weak. And even if no one was there to see it, I didn\u2019t want to feel it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAdam\u2026\u201d I whispered to the empty street as I walked. \u201cWhere did you go?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2026To be continued.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Reading time: 10 minutes I woke up to a white ceiling. It wasn\u2019t the soft white of morning light\u2014it was sterile, unforgiving. The kind that made you feel like your life had been rinsed of color. I was in an uncomfortable bed, my body heavy in a way that didn\u2019t feel like sleep. 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It wasn\u2019t the soft white of morning light\u2014it was sterile, unforgiving. The kind that made you feel like your life had been rinsed of color. I was in an uncomfortable bed, my body heavy in a way that didn\u2019t feel like sleep. 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